A Dance for Two
by Reiki-Piratical
Summary: Law works at the Pink Flamingo as a down-on-his-luck stripper hoping to scrounge up enough cash to go to medical school and rise up out of the slums. He struggles to put up with fellow stripper Ace, his psychotic boss, a past that won't go away, and one very persistent client.
1. First Familiarity

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter 1 – First Familiarity_

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><p>The deep red lights were low, and the smog created by a dozen lit cigarettes and cigars captured the essence of the colour within billions of dust particles. He could see past the curtains that hid him backstage that the crowd was relatively large tonight, most single tables filled with patrons waiting to see the show. It would be another long night hugging poles between his thighs. If he got lucky, maybe he'd get a few lap dances commissioned to spice things up.<p>

Then again, Trafalgar Law hoped he wouldn't get called out. He didn't fancy grinding himself into the crotch of some smelly, older man.

A firm hand grasped his shoulder, but he didn't jump. He knew exactly who it was. "He wants us to do a double strip tease tonight. Says the crowd loved the last one we did together. You up for ripping all the clothes off of my sexy body?"

"You should ask Marco to dance with you tonight, Ace," he said, shrugging off the hand. He needed to get ready. Everyone else backstage was near naked or in some sort of provocative wear and he was still in his street clothes.

"Marco doesn't dance, remember? He just gets people drunk. That's his job."

"Lucky jerk," he mumbled. "If only Doflamingo gave me his job. I'm sure I could serve a few beers without conflict."

"That would be awesome," Ace agreed. "Nobody would touch my crotch if I was behind the bar all night. Sadly, the closest I can get to the area behind the counter is when I'm dancing on the shot table. And Marco hates that because I always end up kicking someone's drink over and getting him into trouble."

Law let out a little laugh that was more a mirthful snort than anything else. "Well, Mr. Narcoleptic, that reminds me of the time you fell asleep suddenly while doing a spin and landed smack dab in that fat guy's lap. Man, you should have seen the way his eyeballs bugged out of his skull. He thought he'd scored."

Ace shoved him, frowning. "I thought we agreed never to speak of that incident! I thought I was going to get raped!"

Their laughter was cut short as the costume coordinator, a man called Thatch, grabbed Law from behind and hoisted him over his shoulder.

"Where have you been? And you're not changed!"

"Put me down, _right now_."

"You go on in ten! _TEN_, I'm telling you! Opening act!"

Law could barely get a word in edge-wise as Thatch stripped him down to his black boxer-briefs. Then he did him up again, exchanging his sweater and jeans for a flowing, spotted, relatively monochrome robe of sorts.

"Japanese style kimonos today? Are you serious?" Law grumbled. Thatch grabbed a hold of his chin to steady him, and whipped out the dark eyeliner and eyeshadow. Law's signature makeup.

"Doflamingo wanted it, not me. Besides, you're adorable in this thing," Thatch said, fingering the sheer fabric that revealed more than it hid. Law just as exposed in it as he did wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs. "You want the little heart under your eye?"

"No. Too endearing."

"Well, too bad, because Doflamingo ordered that too," Thatch snapped, seeming a bit fed up as he penciled in a tiny, upside down heart under the far corner of Law's right eye. It reminded him of a split teardrop. "Said it goes with your stage name."

"Hate my stage name. It's too simple and idiotic."

"Least you don't have Ace's. With him it's more of a joke with his real name, ya?"

"Guess so. Not that I would argue with Doflamingo. This is a shit job, but it's the best paying job I've got right now. I can usually earn more here than working at the grocery store."

Thatch put the finishing touches on his costume. "Medical school, huh kid? You can do it. And when you get rich and famous, come find me and do surgery on my aching back, will ya?"

"Will do, old man," Law said, striding out of the backstage area to take his place behind the curtains. Looking above him, he could see a flashing timer right next to a clock. Everything in this place was timed down to the minute, and to screw up would mean to reschedule everything, not to mention the loss of your job. Doflamingo, crazy head honcho in pink, had no shortage of willing dancers. So Law rarely came late.

Today was an exception. Today he'd been evicted from his grubby flat and had been busy trying to move all of his meager belongings to his friend's place. Multiple friends, in all actuality. All crammed into one apartment. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi. They hadn't been able to hold their own places and had tripled up, in hopes of being able to pay the rent. Now Law needed to join their joint lease on a home, which had once only been Bepo's, but now belonged to everyone.

The three men had agreed to accept Law immediately, of course; he was their best friend and longtime pack leader. Still, Law couldn't wait to be able to earn enough money to get out of the slums.

He saw Ace take his place on the far side of the stage and flash him a pearly white grin and a thumbs up. Based on what Ace had been slated to wear, black stripes inlayed on a golden fabric, Law guessed they were supposed to mimic wildcats. He believed he was the snow leopard to Ace's Bengal tiger.

That fucking Doflamingo. Always animals.

He risked one more peek through the dark curtain, taking in the audience on the other side of the stage. Packed full. It would be a bloody miracle if nobody tried to buy his lap dance tonight.

Who was he kidding? He needed the money.

The announcer started jabbering, taking the stage to do the introduction. Both Law and Ace faced away from the audience, waiting for the audible cue that would raise the curtain.

"Here's Heart and Spade!"

Law groaned at his stage name as the curtain rose and tilted his head back. The music began to play, a slow, sensual tune that did nothing but irritate him. While Ace might've loved this scene, it just wasn't for him.

Nevertheless, he spun around with Ace, and took in the silver poles in front of him, beckoning him forward with enticing glints in the red light. So he went, swinging his hips ever so subtly, and threading his hands through his dark hair. The music gyrated, and he did his best to move to the rolling waves of the bass until he reached his designated pole. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Ace reach his too, more or less at the same time.

He grabbed the pole with one hand and leaned back, the billowing sleeve of his garb fluttering away to expose a bit more skin. He could easily bow his back to touch his head to the ground, whilst never lifting either of his legs. But he knew Ace was not so flexible, and they were supposed to be dancing together in acceptable harmony. Only he hadn't had time in the past few hours to learn this particular dance with Ace, and thus was making his moves up as he went.

Ace knew he was free flying. Which is why he moved extra slowly tonight, sending out signals to Law. A flick of his left foot. Law translated it as: bring your leg up and wrap it around the pole.

He got that right, and they hung there in symmetrical positions. Law craned his head back so he could see Ace, but he must have missed the signal under all that fabric because Ace was already making their next move. Climb.

He leapt up a few feet, nimble as could be. He knew this move. Slide down the pole with a slight turn, keeping shoulders and arms tense enough to support his weight. One leg outstretched, one bent. Grip the cold, unrelenting pole between his thighs.

Running through the move, Law barely glimpsed how Ace had fared. Ace was notorious for screwing up the moves that required him to turn his body at sharp angles. He was just too muscular to have the sort of grace required to pull it off. Not that it mattered anyway; Ace's charisma always pegged him at the top of the list of dancers coveted by the audience. He danced with a seductive grin and oozed confidence. He had a bizarre willpower that dominated the hearts and heads of all others.

Doflamingo would never fire him. Law on the other hand…

He ranked only moderately high at the end of the day. He had to nail the moves with nothing less than perfect execution. No unsightly bumbling movements were allowed to mar the face of the club.

So when Ace did a front hook open followed by a teasing flick of the wrist that Law didn't see coming, he knew he ran the risk of seeing the boot applied to his rear end.

Quickly he sent a signal to Ace, a quick nod of his head as they both moved into a spin around the pole, matching the decrescendo of the music. Ace quirked his eyebrow and flashed him a nervous half smile. He had anticipated that it would probably come to this.

They left their poles and strode up to one in the middle that was even closer to the first few people in the audience, each placing a hand on it.

"Grind?"

Law grunted. Best to just let Ace improvise their choreography. He did a better job at it, at any rate.

They thrust their pelvises towards the pole, and Law made sure to get into a bit more of a swivel with his hips, as that could be his saving grace for the night. Sure enough, after a few thrusts that occasionally bumped his knee against Ace's, he heard the hoots and whistles that he knew were meant for him, not Ace.

Finally, he'd got them going.

Ace knew it too, and soon Law felt his hands wandering over to take hold of some of the loose fabric bunched around his shoulders, pulling it back. A few yanks and Ace had his garb off of him and had thrown it into the crowd on top of a few men that literally jumped for it.

This was a bad choice for stripping clothes. Only one layer meant the excitement would wear off in seconds. Law was already mostly naked and couldn't throw anything else into the crowd. He really hated Doflamingo for his idiocy.

He rid Ace of his clothes next, running his hands all over that tanned skin, showing the men in the audience that paid a heaping sum to see them preform what they couldn't have for free. Ace did the same for him, only he was sure Ace spent more time highlighting his more charming features, like his long legs and the way his back arched gently. Trying to sell him.

Ace was always so helpful. Law didn't even mind it when he lifted him off the ground and tossed him into the air, only to catch him again. Usually he hated that move and would beat Ace for attempting it without warning. But, again, he was desperate. He needed the money a few lap dances would earn him. Badly. Ace knew that.

"To show them how light and adorable you are," Ace whispered as he sat Law's thighs down on his shoulders. "Bigger men love it."

"I'm never adorable," Law whispered back as the music climbed to new heights. They were almost out of time. The music would come to a halt soon and they'd have to skip along to the backstage area.

"Just trying to sell you."

"I know."

"Gonna flip you," Ace whispered suddenly, hoisting Law from his shoulders as he moved into a crouch. Hurriedly, Law grabbed a hold of the silver pole and felt the pressure on his lower stomach as Ace pushed him up and tossed him vertically. When he reached the point where gravity wished to suck him down to the hard ground, he stiffened his upper body and held the pole, suspending all movement. The blood rushed to his head and buzzed in his ears, but he managed to spread his legs out horizontally, hearing the excited murmurs of the crowd.

If that didn't get him a dance, he didn't know what would. Ace was a genius at times, he could admit that.

The music stopped and Ace pulled him from the pole after holding his own finishing move, which involved a cheeky grin and wide spread thighs that invited spectators to attempt to reach out and touch. A cheer went up, which was more than Law could have hoped for after such a disastrous performance.

Doflamingo was going to chop both of his nuts off for this.

The announcer's voice crackled over the sound system as they exited the stage, grabbing their clothes. Ace had to ask for his back from the audience. People had abandoned Law's from where Ace had tossed it.

A bad sign.

"That was Heart and Spade, people. Coming up we have Diamond and his good friend and dominatrix, the lovely Queen of Clubs. Get ready for a little bit of our house style burlesque!"

_No,_ thought Law, _Clubs has got to be the worst stage name ever._

They slipped behind the curtain and Ace immediately bounded over to Thatch, who was taking down names from several slips of paper onto his master copy. That copy would, in turn, get turned into the club owner.

"Anyone make a request of me? How 'bout Lawsie?"

Law moved forward warily, waiting any moment for Doflamingo to appear out of nowhere in that furry pink shawl of his. So far, there was no sign of him. Perhaps, if he was insanely lucky tonight, the man had missed his show.

And pigs would fly straight out of his asshole.

"Fifteen people have requested you, Ace," Thatch said, finishing with a long whistle. So you get to pick and choose, I guess. If I were you, I'd go for the guy at table fourteen and the one at seven right away. Tuxedos and fancy cars, or so I heard our valet driver say earlier."

Ace laughed merrily. He always got the good ones that sweated money out of every pore on their body. Enough to tip handsomely, anyway.

"And our dark-eyed raccoon?" Ace asked, taking a hold of Law's arm and pulling him in to look at Thatch's records.

"Uh…two," Thatch said softly. "Just two."

Law furrowed his brow. He was so dead. Well, perhaps not so much dead as homeless. He couldn't freeload on Bepo and his friends forever.

And he certainly couldn't make it to medical school on pennies alone.

A young man, a collector of requests that was stationed in the audience during the performances, walked in and thrust a few more request papers into Thatch's hands. For a moment, Law was hopeful. Then Thatch gave him a sad shake of his head, and tossed the papers to the side under Ace's name.

Damn.

Law watched Diamond, whose real name was Jozu, and the dominatrix, Izou, as they took the stage. They were a comical act, and Law could bet that Izou would get more offers for his company than he did. He was an old favourite, after all. Jozu, on the other hand, rarely got any offers, but that was okay considering he mostly served as a bartender and only did the gig for kicks and a few extra bucks on the side.

Plus, Law secretly knew, he loved being Izou's toy.

He turned away and caught sight of a familiar blob of faux pink feathers moving about the dressing room backstage. It was still a few paces off, but moving quickly through the racks of sparkly, skimpy clothing. Law hadn't been seen just yet.

"Fuck. What tables have I got?"

"Five and forty-two," Thatch answered, eyes darting to the approaching pink fluff. "Get going; we'll distract him."

Law took off, not needing to be told twice. He wanted to buy a little time before his inevitable confrontation with the magenta fiend. Just enough time for Doflamingo to calm down and put away the machete. He would stretch out these two lap dances for as long as possible.

He went down a side corridor that exited into the audience. Table five was near the front, and he located it easily. Even though he wanted to curl into someone's lap and hide out as quickly as possible, he forced himself to slow down as he made his way between the tables. A few hands reached out to pull at the elastic waist of his boxer-briefs, stuff bills into him and grope his front or slap at his ass. Some of the squeezes were firm enough that they hurt, but he bore it. He couldn't afford not to.

He hated these people, but he would be lying if he said he didn't somewhat enjoy the attention. Besides, on occasion he'd look through his garments and find twenties. But that was rare. Most of the bills were cheap, crumpled ones.

The man at table five was creeping dangerously close to being past his middle years, but Law gave it his absolute best dancing for him despite the turn-off, and earned the flat rate with a tiny tip. The most the man asked for was a few fingers to be placed along his cheek, and seemed to have a bit of a butt fetish with the way his palms kneaded Law's ass. He managed to draw it out for a half hour, but after that the man sent him on his way with a kind word and a wet kiss on his cheek that he really wasn't supposed to give him. But Law couldn't exactly tattle to Doflamingo about one kiss.

He wiped the slobber off and proceeded to the back of the room. He hated going near the back. It was well known amongst the dancers that the ones who never tipped nor shaved their beards sat back there. They were the observer types that didn't bother to get too close to the action, as the seats up front cost more. They were the ones that came for the alcohol before the men.

Law received a few pats and rough smacks as he fought his way to the back, grabbing a few dollar bills and bland compliments on the way. People liked him, but they didn't love him. He could see Ace commanding the attention of an entire area of tables across the room, despite the fact that the best act of the night was going on right then and there.

Law wasn't jealous of the man, but he was jealous of the money he made.

Empty tables surrounded table forty-two, and one man nearby was dead drunk. He couldn't see the person's face who'd requested him, as they had turned away from the show. He took a deep breath and went over to the man, tapping him lightly on his shoulder.

"You requested me?"

The man spun on him with piercing eyes that held his gaze. Instantly, Law went rigid. He experienced the innate urge to make a run for his life. "Yeah, you're Heart. The flexible one."

He forced himself to nod and remain where he was. There was no way in hell this man was scarier than Doflamingo. "That's me. Thirty bucks for a private dance. You cool with that?"

The man nodded absently and motioned for him to come closer, turning his body to expose his lap. He wore dark slacks and an equally dark suit, and his hair looked fiery under the red lights. Upon closer inspection, Law found that it was indeed red hair that he was staring at, slicked back from his broad forehead.

He seated himself with a flirty wiggle in the man's lap, something Ace had taught him and swore by. He then tried to judge the man's reaction. He seemed stiff, and his eyes cold and hard. A tough customer.

Law leaned in, wrapping his arms around his client's thick shoulders, and whispered in his ear, "So, what would you like today, sir?"

"Show me what you can do."

Law pursed his lips. Not a single suggestion. Free reign to do as he pleased.

He chuckled lowly and began to spiral his hips, inching closer to the man's crotch with each rotation. While he did this, he worked his hands into the man's shoulders, pushing him back against his chair as he worked the muscle underneath his palms. Another trick Ace had taught him.

He stared at the man without shame. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the strange lighting conditions at this particular table, he could see the man he was seated on was fairly good looking, in a rugged sort of way. A powerful jawline and his fierce eyes were his greatest assets, but Law couldn't help but also admire his stocky neck and the way his prominent cheekbones caught the light from the nearby lamp. He couldn't see the details of this man's face, but it was enough to excite curiosity.

With a bit of surprise, he found himself wanting to kiss the man. That was rare. Usually his customers were ugly, older man, just like the one at table five. This one, though, was certainly only a few years older than he and handsome enough to catch his attention.

"Would you like a kiss?" he murmured, voice gravelly with desire.

The man jumped a little, and his strong arms encircled Law's lower back. "You do that sort of thing?"

_Not often,_ Law thought. _It's against the rules. But I seem to be breaking rules tonight._

"I do," Law conceded, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the tip of the man's slightly crooked nose. After that went well, he moved down to the man's cheek, then trailed his lips down to the corner of the man's mouth.

By then he felt a rough hand in his hair, and found the man grasping his head to keep him in place so he could kiss his lips brutally. The unbridled lust set Law off. He hadn't been kissed by anyone like this in a long time. The last customer he'd even been remotely interested in had shown up months ago. And that man hadn't tipped, despite Law's best efforts, and had left a sour taste in the dancer's mouth.

The kisses grew hungrier, and eventually the man invited himself into Law's mouth, tongue exploring him and tasting his last meal. Which hadn't been much in Bepo's apartment. Plain rice, and barely enough to be substantial.

He knew he was loosing weight. Fast.

But the man he rocked against, pressing their chests together and exchanging hot saliva didn't seem to notice how bony he really was. A half-hour of groping and kissing flew by, then another ten minutes. He could feel the growing bulge in the man's slacks, and it mirrored his own. He knew it was time to pull out, to stop before he violated any of the club's stricter rules and guaranteed his firing.

Then again, Ace was fucking that cop that kept tabs on the actions of the club. So maybe he wouldn't get into too much trouble from the authorities that checked up on their behaviour every once and a while if he could get Ace to act as a distraction…

No, he needed to stop.

He pulled back with a light groan as the man's fingers gripped his waist, rubbing up and down his skin. "Time. Can't violate the rules, as you must know."

Much to his surprise, the man didn't scoff or even frown. He let out a deep chuckle that Law felt the vibrations of, passing into his own chest. "Guess not." He checked his watch, a bulky silver thing that was either a fake imitation of a Rolex or the real thing. Law didn't know enough about watches to tell. "What do I owe you again for going over the half hour?"

An extra ten. But Law was feeling ambitious. And broke. "An extra twenty with the original thirty."

He got up off the warm lap, instantly feeling the awkwardness of his erection. It tented his boxer-briefs, and he made a mental note to run straight to the bathroom backstage to clean up before he was made fun of by any of the other more in control dancers.

He watched the man dig out his wallet, a leather thing that seemed quite heavy. But he couldn't see its contents from this position. He did, however, see that more than a few bills came out for him. The man thumbed through the money, then handed it over.

"This good enough for you, Heart?"

Law flipped through the bills, surprised at getting well over double his price for a tip. Five twenties and…were those real?

"Hey, I don't take counterfeit," Law snapped, holding the three bills stuck to the bottom of the pile up to the light of the lamp nearby. He saw a shine on their corners that indicated their authenticity, and his heart sank. They were real. He should have made a break for it when he had the chance and the man didn't notice how grossly he'd overpaid him.

"They're real, trust me," the man affirmed, flashing a wide, almost malicious grin. Law's skin prickled. Hundred dollar bills were nothing to toss around freely.

"You realize you gave me more than–"

"Yeah. You working here tomorrow?"

Law blinked. Nobody had ever asked him this. Shown this much interest. "Yeah, I dance here six days a week. I don't do Sundays, though."

The man nodded, his eyes roving Law's body. "I'll see you tomorrow night then. I'd like it if you danced for me again. Regularly, in fact."

At that price, Law would never refuse. "Okay," he muttered weakly, stuffing the bills carefully into the front of his garments so they wouldn't be lost to the crowd. The man stroked his tanned hip one final time before withdrawing, leaning back into his chair to watch Law strut away.

As he made his way backstage, he felt the burn of the money in his boxer-briefs, and only hoped Doflamingo would find it in his shriveled up heart to keep him around for a little bit longer, just so he could milk his new customer for all he was worth.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> I'm back! I'll be updating this story simultaneously with 'Encounters', which is a completely different sort of story and helps keep my brain in order. This one will be a very strict 'M' and will contain explicit scenes, so that's all the warning I'm going to give. Enjoy. And please review! It helps me gauge whether a story is a failure or not!


	2. Second Seduction

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter 2 – Second Seduction_

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><p>"As it stands, you're not even worth a penny of my taxes."<p>

Law grimaced and hung his head, trying his best to appear as though he regretted his poor dancing skills. "I wasn't up to snuff tonight, I know. But I have the house fee I haven't paid yet, which I earned from a customer who bought a private dance."

Doflamingo's eyebrows shot up, high above the rims of his purple-tinted sunglasses. "Oh, really? Now _that _is certainly a surprise. Well, hand it over, one hundred on the dot for the week and a half you've missed paying your fees."

Law handed him the crumply wad of twenties he had gotten from his customer at table forty-two. He had hid the hundred dollar bills in a secret place under his personal vanity in the dressing area backstage. There were three of them. If Doflamingo knew he'd earned more than usual, Law had no doubt in his mind that he'd lose all his money.

The 'house fee' was the charge that every dancer had to pay to be able to strip, and it covered the expenses the club paid to get them time with a make-up artist, security, and costumes. Law had to admit the house fee of twenty dollars per night was pretty good compared to most clubs. But he still hated paying it.

It was hard earned money right out of his boxer-briefs.

"You're still on probationary measures, Mr. Trafalgar. Don't be late again to practice, you hear? Or else I'll throw you back outside in your undies and nothing more."

"Right. Thanks, Mr. Doflamingo. I won't be late again."

"That's right you won't. Now get out of my office and send Ace in – he's been getting awfully chummy with Officer Smoker, and I want to know whether we're going to be able to bend the rules around this club's license."

Law nodded and scurried out of there. He didn't want to talk to the pointy-faced man in purple shades any longer than was absolutely necessary.

He caught Ace by his elbow as he made to pass by. "The fiend wants to speak to you about that cop that's monitoring us." He leaned in closer so he could whisper into Ace's ear. "It might not be a good idea to tell him you're fucking Smoker on the side. He might make you…do things that could land you in jail."

Ace nodded and quietly thanked him for the heads up before disappearing into the office. His duties done, Law gathered the money he earned for the night, including the hundred dollar bills stashed under his vanity, and headed to his temporary home in his dirty street clothes.

Bepo was still awake when he got back at three in the morning. "Hey, you look more tired than usual."

"It's the make-up," Law muttered, taking in the sight of his concerned friend. Bepo was tall and wide, quite bearish in stature. His most striking feature, if it could be called such, was his albinism. He had pale skin and white hair, and wore contacts to both protect his clear blue eyes and to correct his astigmatism.

Law trusted him with his life and, in turn, Bepo trusted Law.

"I think it's more than the make-up," the big man said softly. "Rough night? Nobody willing to pay?"

"Screwed up and nearly got my ass slaughtered by Sir. Pinkie, but earned a lot of money from this one guy who…seems to want to become my _regular_. Who in their right mind would pay for _me _to be their _regular_?"

"I would!" Bepo said cheerfully. He had a habit of volunteering himself for things he didn't fully grasp.

"Thanks Bepo, but I'm well aware you don't swing that way."

Bepo pouted and let his heavy hands fall on Law's shoulders. "I do! I love girls, guys, and tugboats."

"Thank you, Bepo, but I really need to go to sleep now. And I _know_ you don't like guys, so stop trying to make me feel better."

"I'm sorry." He removed his hands and stared at the floor. "Just wanted to make you feel better, like you said."

"Go to bed, you big bear."

Bepo raised his head again. "You know, you can have my bed tonight if you want – I'll sleep on the couch."

Law looked across the room at the two dark forms on said beaten-up couch. Penguin and Shachi, also in the doghouse as far as finances were concerned, already had that spot occupied.

Bepo followed his gaze. "When they're dead asleep like that, they're easy to move."

"Cheers, Bepo. And good night."

The big man wrapped his arms around Law's thin shoulders, and pulled him into his chest to make their height difference even more apparent. Bepo was a full head taller than him, and his bulkiness sometimes swallowed Law up. "Night, Law. I love you."

"I know, Bepo. I know. Now let go of me before I suffocate."

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><p>After a quick breakfast of cereal, Law headed to his first job of the day down at the grocer's. He worked the till, his natural dexterity enabling him to easily memorize all the codes for the produce despite being a newbie. The elderly lady who had also applied for the position to move up envied him until she was green in the face. Needless to say he had made an enemy of her.<p>

"Morning, Tsura. Lawsie."

Law turned and waved at Ace, who had come in after him dressed in shorts and a t-shirt much to big for him. The boy looked downright homeless at times. This was one of those times where he looked particularly bad and hadn't shaved the ragged stubble from his chin.

"Ace, don't you think you should at least try to dress for the job?" Law said, all smiles. Ace thoroughly amused him. However, the dark rings around his friend's eyes were a bit too noticeable not to remark upon. "Didn't get much sleep?"

Ace waited until Tsura waddled off in a huff before replying. "Well, Marco came over…"

"Ah. That explains _everything._"

"No, no! That's not entirely the reason. I mean, he came over and gave me some of his food, and then just after he left…Smoker kind of showed up."

"You're fucking both of them at once, aren't you?"

"Does that make me a bad person?"

Law sighed. Ace's capacity for worry amused him. "Depends. Marco knows, doesn't he?"

"I, uh…huh. Yeah, I think he does. I wonder if he hates me. Like, secretly, you know? And just keeps me around for the hot sex?"

"Ace, nobody hates you. Trust me. You're so pathetic it's impossible to hate you."

With a petty frown, Ace threw a punch. It glanced off of Law's shoulder, not intending to bruise. The problem with Ace's affections was that he didn't know the strength of his own movements. So what was a little slap on the shoulder was a bone-fracturing slug to Law. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud to his friend. "Says the king of patheticism!"

"That's not a word, nor an ideology, practice, or system of government!" Law retaliated. He reached up to rub his sore shoulder as if working out a knot there, trying to remain discreet.

"Says who?"

"Says me! Future medical student!" Law shouted, throwing a half-rotten tomato that he found under the desk of the till. The tomato sailed through the air and, courtesy of Law's brilliant aim, hit the side of Ace's head, smushing into a crescent moon shape.

He simply laughed and threw it back, but Law could duck under the till to avoid it.

"Would you two shut up? Can't you see I'm _trying _to help customers!"

Both Law and Ace threw their hands up in mock surrender to their store manager, a man they called Mr. 3 for his OCD behavior of lining everything in the store up in groups of three. His real name, Law learned much later, was Galdino.

"Ace, go unback boxes!" the manager screamed at him. That was, in fact, Ace's main job. It paid less than Law's, and he basically restocked shelves all day and broke apart boxes for the recycling team that came by to pick the cardboard up later. He was built for the job, and thus Galdino never felt the desire to reward his hard work by moving him up the ladder. The man was criminal like that.

"Can I dance and sing?" Ace asked innocently.

"No. I hate your singing," Mr. 3 barked. "Your toneless ears kill me."

"I can dance then?"

"What, so everyone in the store will know you strip for a living? We have a clothes-on policy here, Ace. And yes, before you ask, that includes your goddamn shirt."

The woman Galdino had been helping gave the man a look of horror, then directed her focus at Ace, who plastered an adorable look of bewilderment and hurt upon his features.

His expression was perfectly boyish and, of course, perfectly innocuous.

"You should be ashamed of saying things like that to such an innocent boy! Shame on you!"

Law managed to hold in his laughter until the woman had stormed out of the store. Too late, Mr. 3 noticed the women hadn't paid for her groceries.

"Damn it, Ace! She got away with fifty bucks worth of TV dinners!"

"Wow, that woman was _smooth_. I gotta learn how she did that," Ace said, grinning. Law shook his head; his friend was going to get arrested. Sooner or later…

Naw, he was fucking a cop. No matter how many petty thefts or dine and dash attempts, he would be okay in the end.

The rest of the day went on in much the same fashion. They worked their hours, had a break for lunch (in which they raided the bakery and meat sections when Galdino wasn't looking), and then headed home. By that time, Ace's shirt had come off his back and Law was at his wit's end.

"I am _not _pathetic. You, _you _are the pathetic one, Mr. Half-Naked."

"But, see, I'm not the one who's having a monetary crisis. I have my pockets full. Well, as full as the one pocket on my shorts can get. There's a hole in the other one."

"That's because you never pay for anything honestly." There was an insurmountable truth to that statement.

"Except Luffy's education."

"I stand corrected," Law admitted. It was a well-known fact that Ace worked his hands to the bone to provide for his younger brother, to feed him and to put him through college. "Nevertheless, I'm still not as pathetic as you."

"Oh, hey, I gotta go to the liquor store and get stuff for Marco and the club tonight. Doflamingo always gives me the crappy tasks. Want to come?"

"No, I'm going back to Bepo's. I don't want to see either the club or Doflamingo until I absolutely must."

"Suit yourself. I'd do the same in your position, of course."

Ace booked it out of there and Law caught the bus downtown. The bus always went through the expensive neighborhoods first, built along a little strip of land known as the Grand Line where the millionaires lived cushy lives in penthouses high above the city scum. He had a theory that those same people controlled the bus routes, made them go through the neighborhoods whose people wouldn't be caught dead riding public transit in order to rub it in the faces of people who did.

It was just a theory. And Law had a lot of theories.

Still, he would give an arm and all his toes to live in one of those penthouses. That wasn't the only reason he wanted to go to medical school though. He had a curiosity with all things health related. Becoming a doctor just happened to put his dreams of owning an expensive place that much closer to his fingertips.

He was determined to grab one piece of that dream. Just one.

The city became grubbier as the bus rattled on, and more people filled its world-worn seats with weathered faces and hard glares out the window at the concrete scenery. Law got off at the stop closest to Bepo's apartment, near a park littered with trash, and headed up to change out of his grocer's uniform. Into sweater and jeans he went, and then back on the bus. His friends were all at work still, and he didn't bother eating anything out of Bepo's cupboard. He didn't feel like it, nor did it feel particularly right to eat his friend's food, even though he'd pledged to take up a fourth of the rent along with Penguin and Shachi.

Dusk fell and the night lit up. It wasn't a long ride to the Pink Flamingo, the gay stripper's bar he and Ace worked at. The moment he stepped in the door Marco bombarded him with questions.

"Did you see Ace? Did he get the liquor?"

"I'm sure, by this time, he has obtained the liquor using ethical means, Marco. Calm yourself."

Marco nodded, but his eyes didn't leave the door as he waited for Ace to arrive. The blonde tuff on the top of his head was sticking up in places, a telltale sign that Marco had been running his fingers through his hair with worry. Law didn't get the chance to stick around to reassure him though, as Thatch was already grabbing him.

"Come on, let's get your make-up done and get you into practice mode!"

Over the next hour, Law was transformed into a pirate for the theme of the night: Treasure Island. Ace showed up, at long last, and they hammered out a dance routine, for Doflamingo would surely pair them up again when he got there. Ace was always the opening act. And Law was always selected to be his partner, solely because they looked like they fit together with their black hair and differing body structures. They complimented each other, the customers often murmured.

Law didn't like to think what that meant about him.

Standing behind the black curtain, ready to go on stage a few hours later, Ace whispered, "By the way, some guy in a tight, expensive suit was talking to Doflamingo about an hour ago. Do you think it could be a representative from the Moby Dick, come to whisk us all away to work for the infamous Whitebeard?"

"Ace, you're delusional. It was probably one of last night's customers, coming to complain about food poisoning. No offence, but your darling Marco isn't the best chef."

Ace laughed loudly and Thatch shushed them both. Thatch also controlled the curtain and if any of the dancers were caught off guard, it reflected poorly on him.

Their announcer started going through a string of gags in hopes of getting the crowd going. All pirate related and certainly more than enough booty jokes to bring bile to the back of Law's throat. Finally, he announced the opening act and they went on, waving their plumed hats and putting on a seaman's walk.

They ran through their routine with practiced ease, and Law dared to believe he had even outdone Ace. The poles had been decorated in vines, which had aggravated Ace as he tried to work around them, but Law had taken to the decorations naturally, and even wrapped the faux leafy greens around himself, encouraging some of the crowd members to 'unravel' him.

Now, backstage and panting slightly from the strenuous workout, Law padded up to Thatch and checked the roster for private dances. He could see a large stack of papers getting recorded.

"What's the–"

"Nineteen for Ace, a pretty regular number for him with a crowd of this size, and a surprising amount for you," Thatch said, grinning. "I expect my tip now that you should be able to pay, by the way. I'm your House Mam, after all."

"You haven't told me how man–"

"Twenty, on the dot."

Law blinked. There was no way he'd heard right. There had to be some mistake. "You said…"

"You beat me by one!" Ace shouted in good spirits. "Damn, things are looking up for you, huh? Hey, Thatch, give me my numbers. Nineteen is a long ass night. Gotta get started right away to vacuum up the money."

Thatch gave them each a piece of paper with their respective table numbers on it, and Law glanced down at the list. It was longest one he'd ever had, and he'd been working the club for about six months now.

Maybe he'd even be able to earn the elusive thousand tonight. If all went well and he went home with a chunk of money tonight, he could give a few bucks to Bepo to stock the apartment with food, set some aside for rent, and put the rest away in his med school savings. Which, admittedly, was looking rather bleak at the moment.

Hope clouded his vision. He looked down at the list in more detail, noting the numbers. A bunch of the tables were located at the front, where he had played with a few men and the faux vines. Going down the list, a he noticed the majority of tables were in the middle, which was usually main Ace's crowd. The last table number, however, rang a warning bell in the back of his mind.

Forty-two. Possibly the same man that had requested him yesterday and said he'd be back tonight. The one with money to spare and hundreds to toss around freely.

He gulped and began to work his way around the crowd. He decided he'd move from front to back, preparing himself for table forty-two with some much needed practice. Unusual surpluses of people were stopping him for a few pets along the curve of his ass, and even more took a gander at his front. His boxer-briefs filled up quickly with loose bills, and he was infinitely glad to be wearing them over, say, a thong, as the money didn't fall out the bottom through the elastics that hugged his thighs.

His first customer, when he reached them amid the cheers for Izou and his fellow dancer, was an older gentleman. He did his best to dance for him at an arm's length away, and didn't even have to crawl into the man's lap. He got the base fee and a tiny tip for giving the man a dry kiss on the cheek. The next man was more or less the same. And so on down the room until he got to the fringes of the middle. Here he earned more lavish tips, tips that would have gone to Ace had he preformed better than him tonight.

Before heading to the back to finish up his private dances, Law emptied his boxer-briefs in the changing room, sticking the majority of his bills into his secret compartment. He kept a large wad of ones on the vanity, then tied them together with an elastic. He knew the other dancers wouldn't touch his stuff, and he put the money in plan sight of Doflamingo. Let him take his roll of ones. It was what lay under the vanity that Law cared about.

He went back out and approached the rear of the club, where shadows clung desperately to the walls and the air was thinner, less smoggy. He could see Marco chatting up a younger man at the bar area close to the back, and debated on grabbing a shot. Or a bottle of champagne. He was, technically, supposed to be selling some alcohol, but he tended to leave that side of the job to more professional dancers who'd been there longer, like Izou. That man could sell alcohol that had been in his mouth and out again, he was so good with his words. Law hadn't even an ounce of salesman in him.

He was just trying to prolong his inevitable meeting with the man at forty-two. He could see, even from where he was standing and through the dimness of the lights, that it was the same man. He supposed he was a touch afraid of only putting on a mediocre show, and losing the 'regular' status the man had implied he could earn himself.

At last, he kicked himself into action and strode over, putting on a confident swagger. Without stopping to think things over, he dumped his pirate hat on the stranger's head and sat in the man's lap.

"What took you so long?" the man of table forty-two asked. "I feel like you've been avoiding me." He laughed, but Law detected a faint air of irritation.

"Had some other customers to serve," Law admitted. The man grunted, and all at once Law felt his insides twist as those calloused fingers brushed over his ass. Then they travelled up his loose shirt, a drab, brownish thing decorated with gold accents. Pirate's wear.

"Is that right? And how have they been paying you?"

Law swallowed thickly as the man began to press his thumbs into his skin, working the muscles underneath. They roved his body, but mostly concentrated on his sides, gripping him with muted force. Making sure Law knew that the man didn't want him to get up off his lap for a while.

"They've been paying decently," Law whispered. Truthfully, he supposed he'd made about five hundred dollars, about four hundred after he finished shelling out the taxes and tips to everyone that he'd neglected lately – Doflamingo, bastard a plenty; the dj and stage announcer, Scratchman Apoo; and Thatch, House Mam.

"Out of curiosity, how much is decent to you, Heart?"

Law probably should have lied, but he found himself spilling out the truth. "Maybe four hundred for twenty dances _after_ the manager collects his fees. _Maybe_."

"That's all?" The man's regal forehead wrinkled with apparent confusion.

Law found himself slightly offended by this man's surprise at what he considered a good night, but he didn't dare voice his opinion. He wanted to keep himself in this man's good graces. The three hundred dollar bills had haunted his dreams last night.

He felt the man's smile against his skin as his neck was kissed. It felt good, like a reward after a hard day of work. "If I were the manager, I'd pay you triple just to show up and swivel your beautiful hips."

Law chuckled. The man was attempting to pay him a compliment. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Now, will you dance for me?"

Law nodded and pulled his moves, trying to grind a little closer than the night before and singing softly along to the music, if he knew the song. The man's hands roamed, gripping here, pinching there, but always firm and unwavering. Like he was used to getting what he wanted. And right now, Law supposed, he was working off some stress from the workday, whatever that was for him. Most of the men were in here for that reason alone. It explained the senseless drinkers that hung out at the back of the club, some of them trying to rub one out before security tossed them outside for indecency.

Law was very mindful of the rules set down by the club owner and the authorities, yet he couldn't help but delve his fingers under the man's collar, in an attempt to get close to his bare shoulders. He undid a few buttons and peeled the fabric back. He would give this man a massage, he decided. To ease off some of his stress that he could see had coiled in the man's tense muscles.

It might help bring on a tip if he played the role of the dirty masseuse, at any rate.

He worked to the soft grunts and groans he heard floating below the music, rubbing until his hands became sore and he felt like his veins were going to pop out of his skin and run off on him. He had lost track of the time, but he knew he'd been sitting on the man's lap for more than the usual half-hour. He was glad he'd saved table forty-two for last. He didn't think he'd be able to go on slogging through the throng of ass-grabbers and crotch-clutchers to do more tables.

"Mmm, you getting tired, Heart?"

He would never admit to it, but he certainly was. He just wanted to drag this time with the man out for as long as possible. It was, in a way, soothing him to be kneading his frustration into the shoulders of another, and sitting on someone who genuinely enjoyed his company and wasn't just trying to get the most out of their money was nice too. The other men did, of course, enjoy his company, for why else would they pay for him? But they didn't share the same smile with him or share the same small talk that comforted him like this man did. His only tragic hamartia, if there was one, was that he was a tad rough to the point that Law could feel places on the surface his skin where he'd been touched beginning to throb.

"I'm fine," Law lied.

"You know, you're awfully skinny for a man."

So, he had noticed after all. "Yeah, built that way. I can't help it." More lies. He could easily help it if he ate more and gave up his dream to live a minimum wage existence. If he abolished his ill-fated medical school fund.

"Huh. That so? Well, I think you're too light to be treating yourself right. You know what? I can cook. Perhaps I'll make something for you some time…"

"That would be nice," Law found himself saying. His stomach, empty since this morning, grumbled softly at the suggestion of food. He hoped the man didn't hear.

"You said the manager collects his fees," the man continued. "How much are those expenses?"

"Ten to twenty percent, I guess. Why?"

"Hmm, no reason. Just making small talk," he admitted, ruffling Law's black hair. He needed to get it cut, for it was getting shaggy, but that was yet another expense he didn't care to think about.

"I think I've hogged you all to myself for two hours now," the man said, kissing Law's forehead and stroking his lower back, underneath the thin, brown shirt. "I'd better let you go."

_I have nowhere to be_, Law thought, nodding his head anyway.

He brought his lips down against his client's for a long, drawn out kiss, just as fierce as the first few they'd shared together. He didn't particularly mind sitting for another hour in this man's arms rather than heading home, but he supposed his bony butt was likely leaving imprints in his customer's otherwise pristine thighs.

"Has your rate changed any?" Law shook his head, eyeing the wallet that was produced. It seemed thicker than yesterday, or perhaps he really did need some sleep because his eyes were playing perception tricks on him.

He got another wad of money, thumbed through it, and absently reached an approximate total that made him feel light-headed. More than last night. And certainly more than two hours' worth of dancing with a reasonable tip. His gut twisted and he felt an urge to hand more than half of the man's bills back to him.

"You sure?" he asked hesitantly. His voice wavered to a whisper.

The man chuckled and waved him away. "Next time, you come straight to me and refuse all those other guys lusting after you. I'll pay you what they would have given you, and more."

Law's mouth slackened. Not even Ace had gotten a deal this good. And he'd been working for Doflamingo for a _year_ now. "You sure?" he repeated, feeling lost and a touch afraid he'd heard wrong. That his overtired mind was conjuring up phrases that had no basis in reality.

"More than sure. I won't be here tomorrow night. But the night after that you're all mine, alright?"

Tomorrow was Sunday. He didn't work tomorrow. Somehow, he knew the man had remembered that from their conversation yesterday.

Law nodded and strolled out of there, careful to keep the bills tucked away deep within his boxer-briefs. This was no small amount. He _almost_ wanted to stick them up his asshole to ensure they'd be hidden. What table forty-two had handed over tonight blew last night's wad out of the water.

He didn't dare take the money out of his shorts for fear of Doflamingo popping up out of nowhere and taxing him on his earnings. If Doflamingo asked, he'd tell the man he'd danced his last table for free. That, or have Thatch scratch it off his roster.

He caught the bus home after changing and paying the fees to everyone, paper bills prickling his skin as he kept the boxer-briefs on. He didn't dare take a look at the money until he'd locked himself in Bepo's bathroom, after greeting a sleepy Penguin and Shachi who had once again curled up on the couch. Only when he was naked and sitting against the bathroom wall, earnings from the night in hand, did he dare begin to count.

He separated the money into two piles. One for table forty-two, and another for everyone else, including ass-grabbers and crotch-clutchers. The bulk of people netted him about four hundred and fifty dollars. The singular man who always sat alone at the back? Over two thousand. More than double his dream amount to get in one night.

Law let out a haggard breath as he started at that pile of bills. He bet if he cut that man open, he'd bleed gold, not red.

He let himself think, fleetingly, that it might be possible to get out of the slums after all.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Wow, I had no idea this story would be liked by so many of you! I'm shocked, really I am. You guys are amazing.

Anyways, I want to mention this from the get-go: I suck at mathematics. Like, _suck_. So if you notice anything that doesn't add up for some reason, please by all means point it out. As I work through this story and periodically go back to make changes to the amounts Law earns, occasionally I miss things. Human error!


	3. Third Trick

**...**

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter 3 - Third Trick  
><em>

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><p>Monday came all too quickly. Law sat on the couch after a day at the supermarket, sharing two boxes of pizza with Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo. Penguin still wore his ridiculous winter hat, as did Shachi. Coming into the apartment earlier with pizza boxes in hand, Law realized exactly what had prompted this mild increase in clothing.<p>

"The heater broke," Bepo had told him quietly. He wore an obnoxious orange hat, the very same one he wore to work some days in autumn to do his construction job. "It could take a while to fix. Here, I brought your hat out of storage."

And thus, the spotted, furred hat that he'd wear every day religiously in winter became a permanent fixture over his ears when he was in the apartment.

He took it off only when he was ready to leave. The autumn air still held a vestige of summer within its molecules. He really hoped Bepo would find someone to fix the heater for cheap soon; winter was just around the corner according to the weather people. It was going to get much colder.

The bus was packed, and Law fought for a seat. He had an entire night of prancing around and working a room in front of him, and really didn't want to stand up any more than necessary. He got off the bus feeling glum, but a thought about the man at table forty-two brightened his mood considerably. If he could get some money out of him tonight, he'd replace Bepo's heater for sure. It would be the least he could do for his friend, who had opened his doors to him when he wasn't even in a position to spend money extravagantly.

With this in mind, cheering him up some, he ran into Thatch backstage. Thatch set him up in a stranger costume than usual. Prisoner's garb.

"We doing some kind of kinky prison stint tonight?" Law asked, his interest piqued. His House Mam flashed him a look that Law couldn't decode, but the way Thatch bit his lip was seriously unnerving him. "Thatchy? Mam?"

Thatch got up close and leaned in so he could whisper in his ear under the guise of applying his upside down heart to the corner of his right eye. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you what's going on tonight, but I can warn you, I think, without risking my job. Doflamingo's planning something twisted. He wants me to bring you to his office for a briefing. Whatever you do, don't piss him off. Ace isn't coming tonight, or so Marco told me about twenty minutes ago."

Law felt an irrational fear take root in his stomach. Without Ace he felt a bit lost. Ace was something of a brother to him while they were in this club, and certainly he'd been the one who'd gotten him this gig back when he was begging for money on the curb.

Okay, it hadn't quite come to that. But it was pretty damn close and Ace had saved him from really screwing himself over and starving to death. So to know he was facing the night alone scared him deeper than his emotionless face let on.

Thatch fixed him up and added his trademark shadows to compliment his usual sleep-deprived rings, then walked him to Doflamingo's office. Inside, the furniture and wall fixtures had changed since the last time he'd been in there. It resembled a beach resort in his office, and the desk looked to be made out of palm trees. Thatch left him standing in the room, alone with their boss.

"Welcome. And how are you this fine evening, Mr. Trafalgar?"

"Magnificent, thanks," Law replied tensely. He took a seat across from Doflamingo, as that was expected of him, and awaited what he knew was to come. He knew he was seriously losing profit for the club. He had been for about a solid month now.

He was right in deducing the problem.

"You only make me a tiny drop of money in the bucket, Law." The dark-haired man grimaced and solemnly nodded as if he'd just been told a distant relative had passed away. He would try to play it in a regretful light. "I don't know what kind of customers you attract, but I've decided to handle your case a little differently than I usually do. Usually, I'd fire you and hire someone more competent. Tonight, however, I got a most wonderful idea. A pleasant, new, _fresh_ idea. Innovative, you may think."

Doflamingo leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk and his face in his hands. "I decided, for a little fun, to sell you to the highest bidder for the night. We're going to have an auction. But don't worry, I'll sell some of my lesser dancers to make it more casual-like, but you'll be the star of the night."

Law's mouth fell open. "What? Y-You're going to _sell _me! Like a goddamn prostitute? A _sex slave_?"

Doflamingo had the audacity to laugh at his reaction. "Don't forget, you are bound to a _rigorous_ contract, which you signed with gusto if I remember correctly. Besides, if your buyer, whomever he shall be, hurts you in any way, I'll personally see to it that he pays for his crimes."

Crimes. The only one committing any was the man in front of him.

"Smoker's going to see this as a human rights issue and shut down the club," Law growled. He knew very well that Doflamingo was simply lying out his ass. If he got hurt, the man would do nothing but laugh and order a cocktail. "Then we'll all be homeless."

But the man in pink merely waved his concern off. "I have given Ace the night off from dancing to distract that man. It should make things a touch easier for you too, if you don't have to compete with Ace for attention. Just remember Law, this is the _underground_ that you are a part of. We don't do things in the public eye, so we generally aren't bothered."

With a snort, Law began to pick at his clothing. The fabric scratched him and made him itch in places he didn't think even existed. He was highly curious how this whole shenanigan was going to work economically. "So how much money will I get?"

"I'm feeling overly generous tonight, Mr. Trafalgar. I think I'll take a forty percent cut and leave you with the rest. How nice of me. Almost _too _nice."

Law grit his teeth, but didn't say anything. That was better than he thought it would be. Not good, not at all, but not downright terrible as most of Doflamingo's deals had been in the past. "Alright. Fine. I'll play your little game. But let's up the stakes." And before he got too docile, he opened his big, fat mouth and laid it out for the pink tyrant.

"We should make a bet. If I get sold tonight for five thousand dollars or more, then you guarantee me a place in this club for the next _year_. And I–"

"And if you lose," Doflamingo interrupted, "then you have to work for me for _nothing_. For a month. Like I said, I'm feeling generous tonight, and that extends into any bargaining I might be making."

Law was not overly confident about the situation, but he refused to stand down to Doflamingo's arrangement. Getting five thousand for his body wouldn't be impossible, right? Doflamingo seemed to think it was. And when he shook the man's icy cold hand to seal their deal, he began to shake and wonder just what he'd sold himself into again.

He shouldn't have opened his mouth. That man at table forty-two had made him overconfident in his looks. He didn't even think Ace would get that much money. The majority of their usual crowd were not rich buggers.

"You'll be auctioned last. But, as usual, you dance first. Put on a good show."

Law stalked out of the office and found Thatch applying make-up to one of the less experienced dancers that had recently joined on. "Make me sexier," he demanded.

"You're already pretty sexy to begin with," Thatch muttered, running his eyes up and down Law's body. Not in an appreciative way, but in an analytical way. "I could, possibly, alter your outfit to show a bit more skin. Your best asset is your long legs, not your scrawny chest. We could even swap the pants and boots for heels and a thong."

A thong. He hadn't worn one of those irritating things in a while. But he was desperate, and Thatch knew best when it came to provocative wear. "Okay, let's do it."

Thatch re-made him and gave him four inch black heels. He could walk in these. He'd done so before. It had been a while since he'd worn heels, because Ace was a whole head shorter than he was and for both of them to wear heels while on stage made both of them look ridiculous. So only Ace wore heeled shoes, and those were usually manly boots to appeal to his demographic.

He got dressed and went behind the curtain to wait even though it would be ten minutes before he had to dance for, literally, all he was worth.

He kept his racing heart in check by turning his full attention to the announcer, and by leaning his weight back and forth between one heel and the other. Thatch yelled at him from afar that he was going to snap his heels clean off.

"Gentleman, tonight, as you may have heard from our lovely bouncers, is a special night. The Pink Flamingo will be having a bit of an auction. Bid on your favourite dancer and, at the end of the show, take them home with you for the night or play with them to your heart's content in the club."

Law gasped and nearly fell through the curtain as he lost his balance on one of his heels. Doflamingo did not tell him his buyer would be able to take him out of the freaking _club_.

He couldn't run, much as he wanted to. He heard his stage name announced in Scratchman Apoo's grating voice, and the curtain lifted. The music rolled, and he turned to face the crowd. A few men were downright excited, and Law could see as he strutted towards the middle pole that several other dancers and staff were stationed around the room, and that each table had a paper number facing the stage. So, it really had turned into a human auction house.

He grabbed the pole assertively, feeling his anger brew over, and swung a leg around it. The thong tightened and he heard a few whistles at his choice of undergarments. Thatch had done well in choosing a new costume.

He continued to dance his heart out, swaying and commencing his trickiest moves. The stage felt empty without Ace around, and he found his mind was wandering, taking in the faces of the men sizing him up, trying to determine what he was worth to them.

He knew he was dancing to a very unappreciative crowd by the way they fell mostly silent after a while. They wanted to see Ace, his finely muscled body and bubble butt, and pined for his charisma. Not him.

Law was frustrated. By the time the music slowed and came to a crashing halt, and as he moved into his finishing pose hanging delicately off the pole, he barely heard the roar of the crowd, and instead stormed off stage, ignoring the people who whistled for him to come back on. He couldn't bear it any longer up there alone.

He sat at his vanity, staring into the mirror while the 'lesser dancers,' as Doflamingo had nicknamed them, milled about excitedly. It was ludicrous how well that pink fiend had those inexperienced newbies brainwashed. They all thought they were part of some momentous undertaking. They would be sorely surprised when the night was over.

He continued to glare cynically at his reflection, smudging a bit of eyeshadow and taking a stick of eyeliner to slash through his upside down heart. A broken heart. There. That seemed more befitting of his present predicament.

Outside the backstage area, he could hear the auction starting up as the last dancer waltzed off the stage. He heard some of the bids, and heard the first dancer go for six hundred dollars. He cringed. That was beyond low. That could be him in a matter of minutes.

The second dancer was bought for a lesser price. The third dancer, a bit more than the first. The fourth dancer didn't even get the starting price of two hundred, and they pulled him completely from the lineup and sent him out for lap dances instead.

Doflamingo had screwed him over. No, he had screwed himself over. He was going to be working for a month for _nothing_. And then he would be thrown out with the trash.

"Fuck," he muttered to his own reflection. He was too pissed off to be moved to tears. "Fuck. You are an idiot, Trafalgar Law. A fucking idiot. An idiot that is never going to make it to medical school. Hell, you'll be lucky to make it out of Bepo's apartment and into someone else's _basement_."

He mumbled amid the bids for bodies until Thatch pulled him from his stool and dragged him towards the stage. Flashing him an apologetic frown, Thatch pushed him through the curtain, but not before snapping the back of his thong and making sure his costume sat right on his rapidly sagging body.

The red lights of the stage glared down at him as he made his way over to Doflamingo, who had taken it upon himself to oversee the auction. He didn't bother with his usual strut, and certainly didn't care when Doflamingo threw an arm around his thin shoulders. He was past feeling.

"I'm sure you all know our star dancer of the night, Mr. Heart! Why don't you give the audience a twirl, hmm?" Law obeyed, setting his jaw and grabbing the strategically placed pole nearest to their position, whirling around the cold metal. "Now, for this lovely young man, why don't we start the bidding at just one hundred dollars?"

Law grit his teeth. Doflamingo hated him. Absolutely _abhorred_ him.

The low price got the crowd stirring though. Three numbers went up into the air, and he heard Marco amongst others shouting figures up at the stage as they gathered them.

"We have four hundred from table twelve. Anyone for five? Five, anyone?"

Table thirty-five put their bid in. Then table four, and table sixteen topped that. But table twelve was not easily put out. They raised the price to a thousand. Law's heart pounded. He was still a long ways off from his target, but the crowd was active. More papers fluttered in the air, and Marco's hand seemed to be constantly in the air, waving for Doflamingo's attention.

"Two thousand, for table sixteen. Any fish want to bite on this one?"

Law grunted as the crowd's excitement lulled for a minute. Then another two hundred was added on to his total from table twelve. He knew he needed to add some spice to his appearance. Do something Ace-like to get the crowd drooling.

He grabbed the pole again and spun around it, whipping off his shirt that Thatch had so meticulously positioned. He sent it sailing towards table sixteen. Sure enough, a bid flew up from the man sitting there.

Twelve retaliated. "Three thousand, five hundred for twelve," Marco called up.

He was so close. He knew the club was in a slummy neighborhood, but he had to hope that at least one man could splurge for the price he set in the office. They just _had _to.

If Ace were here in the audience, he knew his friend would join the bidding war. And win him, no matter the cost. Despite being a struggling dancer himself, if Ace knew about the deal he wouldn't sit by idly and let Doflamingo win.

But Ace wasn't here. And maybe, Law thought, this was the real reason why that pink man had gotten rid of him for the night.

The crowd had fallen to almost a hush when another bid flew up from the middle. Table thirty-four wanted him for four thousand, three hundred, and fifty dollars. Law couldn't help himself as he threw his body at the pole, revitalized that he was less than a mere couple hundred off from actually beating Doflamingo at his betting game.

But nobody bet above thirty-four.

"Well, well, well, is that it folks? Do you really want me to sell this beautiful piece of ass for just four thousand, three hundred, and a crisp fifty dollar bill?" Law could hear the smugness creeping into Doflamingo's voice. He did another twirl about the pole and flashed a toothy smile, hoping to win over one of Ace's ardent followers. Nothing. Not even an increased murmur greeted his ears.

"Eight thousand, five hundred!"

Doflamingo make a choking noise that the microphone caught as Marco ran up towards the stage, waving a piece of paper to get his attention.

"Eight thousand, five hundred," he repeated. Law could see the smug grin on Marco's face. There was no doubt in his mind that Marco had listened in to the conversation in Doflamingo's office. Marco was a notorious eavesdropper, and more of a secret gossip than Ace was. "Eight thousand, five hundred for…for…"

He looked behind him, squinting into the darkness. Law followed his gaze, and his eyes landed on a red light that highlighted equally red hair.

"Table forty-two."

Doflamingo looked downright _pained_, and Law felt the urge to wag his butt in the man's face. He'd won. He'd actually won the bet. Even after a forty percent cut he'd earned a hundred bucks over his five thousand. Doflamingo couldn't _possibly_ manipulate his words!

"Will anyone topple that price?" Doflamingo asked weakly. His smile had dropped right off of his pointy face. The crowd remained silent. Law didn't dare to breath as heads turned around and looked for one last bid. Yet there was nothing but quiet dust floating around in the beams of red light above most tables. "Anyone?"

The crowd applauded good-naturedly before Doflamingo could formally close the bidding. Nevertheless, the man staggered off of the stage, more hunched than usual, and thrust the mic into Thatch's hand.

"Well, folks, it seems as though our Heart goes to the highest bidder at table forty-two! All of you who bought a dancer, come backstage in approximately…ten minutes to request a costume for your dancer and I'll get him ready for you in no time!"

Thatch didn't seem overly sure of himself, and kept glancing in the direction Doflamingo stormed off to, but nobody corrected him. Law just stalked off stage, light on his feet and elated.

Until now, the full amount that he'd be earning tonight hadn't sunken in. Five thousand, one hundred after Doflamnigo likely took a cut. That was momentous. That was one semester of school.

He grinned, then frowned as he realized he had only ten minutes to himself. Until he was possibly taken away from the safety of the club. By the man at table forty-two, no less. The man whom he actually felt an attraction to, no matter how slight.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that fort-two had bought him. He'd just been worried forty-two wasn't a part of the crowd tonight. Now he was marginally safe.

Marginally being key.

Because he had no idea what kind of things forty-two would do to him.

"Thatch, what have I gotten myself into?" Law whispered, but his House Mama didn't hear him over the plentitude of voices screeching for makeup or a change of clothes. Already Thatch was busy taking the requests of other men who'd bought one of the lesser dancers. Forty-two had yet to show his face to Law backstage.

Law took off while he was being ignored and locked himself in the bathroom, a dinky little thing with a dirty toilet and a mirror smudged with cosmetics and grimy fingerprints. If he looked hard enough, he knew he could find upwards of thirty used needles hidden around the small space between the sink and the wall. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find a needle that still had some substance in it.

No, he refused to get HIV and die just to get high enough to escape the realities of his situation. Besides, his body rejected all things that could be slated as foreign substances to his body. Including goddamn flu shots.

He sat on the toilet with his face in his hands until someone banged on the door, screaming to use said toilet. He opened up and was halfway through the door frame when another man pushed past him, dropped to his knees, and vomited all over the floor.

The queasiness that swam about in his stomach like a wounded fish grew frenzied. He found Thatch before he, too, could puke.

"Hey, where the hell have you been? Your man was already back here ordering me around!" Thatch seemed troubled, like usual, but it was what he held in his hands that set Law off.

"Hey, what are you doing with my stuff?"

"He just wants you in your street clothes," Thatch said, just as confused as Law was. "I can't understand why. I even offered to dress you in the frilly pink dress Izou likes to wear on occasion! But he just laughed and said you probably wouldn't appreciate it."

Law bit his lip as he took his clothes from Thatch. He wouldn't think too much on it. He already had a feeling he'd be leaving the club. His street clothes just confirmed his theory for him.

He changed behind a rack of clothing, not wanting to visit the bathroom and smelling the stench that emanated from its bowels. When he was done, Thatch found him again and grabbed his face, forcibly cleaning all of his makeup off. Except for one thing.

"He wants the upside down heart. Asked for it specifically to be painted in the usual spot," said Thatch as he drew it back on, hand wavering slightly. Law checked the mirror to see his Mam's handiwork. Despite being unsteady, the heart looked better than it ever did. But man, did he look tired. And with no makeup to offset his naturally dark rimmed eyes, he just looked downright _flogged_.

"Can't you put something on my face to make me look less…you know."

"He specifically asked for _no _makeup. No means no. And I'm not about to disobey the guy who shelled out eight thousand, five hundred in one go."

Law groaned and raised his hands to rub at his eyes but Thatch slapped his arms down. "Don't you dare smudge that heart! That's the only damn thing he asked of me!"

Defeated for the moment, Law focused his attention on his grimy clothes. His jeans were well worn and fraying around the knees and between his thighs. Not to mention his artistic friend Shachi had decided it would be cool to doodle spots on them with sharpie marker. At the time, it had certainly been cool, as the spots on his jeans matched the ones on his favourite hat, but now he realized he probably looked juvenile. And his hoodie was too boyish, a cryptic smiley face on a yellow background with black sleeves. The smiley face held traces of the universal symbol for viruses, and it gave him a distinctly biohazardous air. How unattractive.

It was the wrong look for the man who'd just thrown a promise of a thick wad of cash at him. Maybe he wouldn't earn a penny tonight after all. Maybe the man would take one look at him and laugh, then go home.

"Lawsie, the guy wants you to meet him in the parking lot. Says he'll find you. So good luck, and take this with you." Thatch thrust something into the pocket of his sweater, trying to be as discreet as possible. "Call Marco if you get into…trouble. And by the way, I don't think Doflamingo wants to see you any more tonight, so don't walk by his office on your way out."

Law nodded and fingered the cell phone in his pocket. Thatch's cell phone. His House Mam was always looking out for them. For him. When, or rather, _if_, he got paid, Thatch was going to get a hefty tip out of his pockets.

He avoided the fiend's office and stole out into the parking lot. During his time getting ready, many of the members of the audience had left the building and the lack of cars in the parking lot reflected that. He searched the remaining vehicles sitting under lamplight, but none of them really stood out as one his forty-two would drive.

A firm hand on his shoulder made him spin around on his heel and bring his other arm up to defend himself, hand curled into a fist. He barely stopped himself from connecting with forty-two's face, but the man had already moved to block him. His fist smashed into an unyielding palm.

"You're pretty sharp," the man said. His fingers closed over Law's fist and he lowered their hands slowly. "Or just feisty. I can't be certain."

Law gulped as he took in the dark form before him. Outside in the night air, under the dim light of a nearby street lamp he could see even less of the man than usual. But he knew it was him the moment he heard that silky voice. The voice that he now knew, for sure, oozed wealth rather than dirty saliva.

"Ready to go?" the man asked, even though it was obvious. Law nodded, then realized the man probably couldn't see him all that well, and verbally gave him his assent. "Good, then let's get out of here."

Law didn't know whether he should follow or link his arm with the man, or what. The arm that was draped around his shoulders solved that question. He let himself be led down the street and away from the parking lot. As he got further away from the comfort of a roof over his head and people always watching, he began to get nervous. Where was he taking him on foot? Not to some back alley to be raped, he hoped.

Then he saw the bright lights of the parking garage reserved for the elite when they visited the slums, and he relaxed. He should have expected that this man wouldn't park his car anywhere it could get broken into easily.

The man spoke a few snappy words to someone inside an office of the building, but they were in and out of the well-lit space before Law could blink away the darkness in his vision and the distorted colours. All he made out was a blur of red hair. Always the red hair.

They went back outside and waited for a minute, during which time the man had wrapped his hand around Law's waist and was stroking his side absently with his fingers, nails just barely grazing skin that peeked out from under fabric. It was making him shiver and he almost slapped the hand away.

Before he could move, however, the car arrived and the valet driver stepped out and went around the front to the passenger side, opening it up for Law to get in.

It was then, looking over that sleek red car, that he realized the full extent of what he had gotten himself into by not running when he'd had the chance.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Posted this chapter(almost) a day earlier than usual because some friendly reviewers (you know who you are) really motivated me, as crazy as that may sound! Anyways, now you all know why I chose Doflamingo as the owner of the club.


	4. Fourth Façade

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter 4 – Fourth Façade_

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><p>The red Ferrari floored Law to the point where he was a mere ant on hot pavement. He felt too scummy to get into the car, but the valet driver ushered him in ever so gently as if he were decorated in diamonds, not rags. He had no choice but to contaminate those soft, black leather seats with his dirty rear.<p>

The interior was well-lit by the car's overhead lights, and after he shakily strapped himself in, he turned just in time to see the man from table forty-two's profile before the lights snapped out and left the interior in shadows.

A strong jaw. That red hair. Fierce eyes. Everything he'd seen in the club. A slight scar above his eye that was pale pink. Sharp collared white shirt with a black overcoat. A deep, seemingly perpetual frown. New things he'd seen clearly only now in the car.

The man started driving wordlessly, tearing out of the parking garage and down the street. The rate of speed was exhilarating, but the car handled so smoothly Law barely felt the pull of gravity as the man braked hard for a red light. He couldn't see his buyer, but he could see his scenery awash in man-made light, and the car's headlights illuminated all the street names. They were going into the elite side of the city. After seeing the car, Law had expected no less.

The silence in the vehicle was beginning to unnerve him. He expected the man to try and make an effort at small talk to comfort him, as he had in the past when he'd ordered those lap dances. But the man remained stoic.

Law couldn't take it.

"I can't believe you paid over eight thousand dollars for me," Law said quietly.

He could see the man's dangerous eyes flash his way in the darkness, as if he was surprised Law would choose to speak to him.

"Hey, I told you I'd pay double whatever those other idiots in there offered up for your services. I'm a man of my word, Heart." He let out a breezy laugh.

And, all at once, the tense air was broken.

"You are indeed a man of your word, monsieur."

He got himself a chuckle out of the man on the other side of the gearshift. "So, Heart, tell me what you'd like to eat. Sadly, today I can't take you home with me, so we're going to have to go second-rate."

Eat? That was about all he heard. Law's stomach instantly growled and he hugged his arms to his chest in hopes of stifling the noise. Eat? He'd eat anything. Well, almost anything. He wouldn't eat Bepo's work boots, if it came to that or starving. The stench of that man's feet was enough to knock anyone out.

"I'll eat almost anything. I'm not too picky."

"Seafood?" the man asked shortly.

Seafood. He hadn't had seafood in a very, very long time. He couldn't' even remember the last time he'd gone to a restaurant to order seafood. Well, he couldn't remember the last time he was in a half-respectable restaurant, period, so maybe he had to reevaluate his criteria regarding _seafood_.

Seafood was expensive in this city. But there was no doubt in his mind this man would be able to pay any price. Still, why _food_? Where was the lousy roadside motel sex? Would that come later? At all?

"Seafood is nice. But, I have to ask, why would you pay to feed me? Haven't I cost you enough money as it is?"

The man laughed again. Like really, honestly, _laughed_. At _him_. "What? You're not hungry? I don't believe that; I can hear your stomach ripping itself apart all the way over here. Besides, I wanted you for your company, and I couldn't stand by and let you go to one of those greasy old men sitting up front. Unless you like getting yourself fondled by elderly people, in which case I apologize for taking you out of their wrinkly hands."

Clamping his mouth shut suddenly, Law bit the inside of his cheek, giving himself a shot of pain and adrenaline. Normally, he would have spat out a curse and been done with it, but what came through his parted lips upon his job being put into question instead surprised him.

"Shut the fuck up."

He cringed at his own language. He was going to get dumped on the side of the road. He had screwed up big time. Tonight he'd done too much mouthing off. First to Doflamingo, now to Mr. Forty-Two. Fuck.

The man was silent for a few seconds as Law mentally beat himself senseless, then he laughed raucously. _Again_. A spine-chilling laugh that made Law's toes curl out of instinct. "Fuck, I knew you were the feisty sort. So, you are hungry then?"

Law managed to squeak out a relieved yes and pressed his lips together until they turned a sickly white. He resolved not to open his mouth again until he absolutely _had _to. There was no telling what his uncensored thoughts might feed to his tongue.

Feed. Food. Ugh, he was ravished from not eating for hours at a time. It seemed like so long ago that he'd brought home pizza to share with his friends. He was the kind of hungry that could not be described.

Wrong. He knew exactly how to describe it. He was 'Ace-Hungry'. After all, that man's bottomless pit was, well, _bottomless_.

Thinking of Ace helped to calm his nerves as the Ferrari slowed down and pulled into a parking lot. He had lost track of the street names at this point, but one look outside of his window made him draw up against the leather seat. Into a full body cringe.

He was _not_ dressed for the Baratie.

"Best seafood in the city," the man said, a statement Law knew was fact, not fiction. The Baratie was legendary, as it had started years and years ago as a seafaring restaurant operating out of a grand ship on the ocean. And many of its beautiful traditions had survived.

Including its fight ring.

"Shall we?" the man asked, cracking his door open and putting a foot outside on the pavement. Law scrambled to exit the vehicle, knowing there wasn't much he could say otherwise on the matter. He just hoped nobody would decide to kick him out based on what he was wearing.

They made their way to the entrance of the restaurant. The most interesting feature of the Baratie was that it had been built in the remains of a full rigged vessel that had gone aground. The entrance was on one side and from a distance looked like a plank that rose up into a hole in the hull. But there were glass doors there, and despite the shipwrecked look of the Baratie, the structure itself was not only sound but also beautifully reconstructed.

Inside, the Baratie sparkled and waiters waltzed around in dark suits. But Law hardly noticed them straight off, because he was busy squinting at the man who had wrapped his arm around his waist, and was gently guiding him along. Never before had he been treated so much like a…_female_.

"Hey, I can walk without you prodding me around, you know," he found himself saying as a waiter directed them to a seat near the back. He wasn't really being pushed about, but the very implication that he was being the submissive one in this strange relationship, that this man was _making _him do things, just ticked him off.

His captor chuckled but his hand never left his lower back. "So?"

"So hands–"

Law stopped himself. He couldn't exactly say 'hands off.' The man had _bought _him. He was _entitled _to hands on.

Gritting his teeth, Law sucked in a whoosh of air through his nostrils and forced his mouth to stay closed. He would grin and bear it, he decided. He was going to eat delicious food, pay nothing, and then go home after this.

Hopefully.

The notion that this man had bought him for sex had, obviously, crossed his mind more than once. And, no matter how good-looking this man was, he hated being forced to do anything he didn't particularly want to.

They took their seats and the waiter, a lean man with a curtain of blond hair swept over an eye, dropped some menus on their table before gallantly hurrying off to help an older lady who was having troubles with her walker.

Law looked about the place with fabricated interest, taking in the sight of fishing apparatus stuck artfully to the wall and fancily dressed people with only the tiniest of unease. In this part of the restaurant, under a dim lamp, nobody gave him and his street clothes any notice. It was all couples staring dreamy-eyed at one another across candlelit tables. The saccharine sight brought a bit of involuntary bitterness to the back of Law's throat.

"What would you like to eat?" the man asked. "You can order anything, of course."

Law had avoided staring at him so far, but now he found he couldn't tear his eyes away. Besides the occasional candle on some tables, the place was weakly lit to create an atmosphere of sensuality, and the soft light above their table cast frightening shadows across this man's broad features. He noticed how the shadows warped across this man's nose, making it seem misshapen. The longer he stared, the more he came to realize this man had had his nose fractured at some point. He knew that from his foray with old surgeon textbooks.

It was an effort to cast his eyes down at his menu. He saw the special of the evening on the front, and that looked more than good enough for him. Especially that price tag. "I think I'll get that."

"You sure?"

"Yep," Law said, setting his menu aside with an air of finality. The man didn't speak again, rather took Law's hand and fondled his sinuous fingers, until the waiter came to take their orders. Law found the man just ordered whatever he was having, which for some reason eased his jumpy nerves. He had made a point of ordering what was probably the cheapest thing on the menu, because he really didn't want this man spending too much on him. Not when he had already paid so much for his company.

Law didn't want to _completely_ rip Mr. Forty-Two off. The longer he sat at the table, trying to figure out the motives behind this man's generosity, the faster the desire to suck up all his money left him.

If it were any other person, maybe he would order the most expensive meal, but not with Forty-Two. There was an air of hazard about this man, one he had felt when first approaching him a few nights ago, and Law didn't want to annoy him, if he could avoid it.

Besides, those fierce eyes and the firm curve of his jaw softened Law in ways he didn't want to think about. As a consequence, he crossed his legs and began to instruct himself to breath deeply and regularly, fixing his gaze on something that wouldn't rouse him.

"Tell me something about yourself," the man said suddenly.

Law quit studying the fountain on the other side of the room and trained his eyes on that red hair. Something about him? Hmm. Certainly not his name. It wouldn't do to get overly friendly.

"I like reading," Law said vaguely. He would play it on the safe side.

"And what do you enjoy reading?"

He more than expected this question, and the thought of lying artfully crossed his mind, yet it hardly seemed necessary. "Scientific and medical curiosities."

The man actually chuckled, a deep, dark, grumbling sound in the pit of his stomach. "I suppose you must have an extensive collection of thick books."

Law nearly burst into laughter. He barely concealed his mirth under a lopsided smile. An extensive collection of books? More like a well-worn library card. He picked up a few books here and there at flea markets, but seeing as he lived day to day barely able to feed himself, books were a want rather than a need.

"I have a few books," he said coyly, hoping his smile and the seductive incline of his head would drop the subject. No, he could see by the way the man's forehead lifted that he had more questions fluttering around in his frontal lobe. Time to turn the tables. "Do you read?"

"Only when I must," the man said. "Which is more often that I'd like, but such is a consequence of holding the position I have at work." The man dismissed his reality with a bored drone, which piqued Law's interest. What could he possibly do outside of sitting at the back of the Pink Flamingo?

It was a red flag move to ask a client too many personal questions, so Law merely shrugged. Though he was curious about this man, pathetically so, he could never ask questions about the man's job, his personal life, or what his name really was. It was unprofessional.

The waiter brought their food, shrimp and lobster dishes, and any inklings of a conversation dissolved. Law kept up a steady stream of food and wine en route to his stomach, and was encouraged to see that the man wasn't exactly one for excessive manners, tearing into his meal with almost vicious yearning. The buttery lobster practically melted down his throat, and he couldn't help but make a few quiet, appreciative noises that he hoped the man wouldn't hear.

He hadn't eaten such a good meal in…weeks? Months? Too long ago.

Both men polished off their meal without leaving any edible scraps, which seemed to please their blond waiter immensely when he returned to collect the plates. But now, with the food cleared out of the way and their mission to consume food complete, Law was left wondering: what now?

The man answered his thoughts, almost as if he knew what Law was thinking. "Do you want to go see if they're running any fights in the ring right now?"

The Baratie's fight ring. Perfect for a time waster. "Sure."

The waiter returned with the check, lying it face down on the table in a leather sleeve. Law badly wanted to see the sum they'd racked up, but the man's hand was already on the leather sleeve that housed the bill. He took one glance, set it back down, and reached into his overcoat. Law watched carefully, but the man sorted through his wad of bills without ever taking them out of his wallet. When he decided upon the amount, the precise way he lifted the stack of bills out of the wallet and stuck them in the sleeve only hinted at their worth. Never revealed it.

The sleeve went down again, hiding the money from sight, and Law irritably stood up and looked around for something to occupy himself while the man got to his feet. His eyes landed on the fountain again, but before he could study it in detail, he registered a palm pressing into his hip.

Somehow, that warm, firm hold set him off. He wriggled out of the man's grasp, tugged at some loose fabric instead, and led the way before the man could domineer him again. The man followed barely two paces behind. He'd been to the Baratie before and knew the fight ring's location, back when Penguin still had a job working as a bus boy for the cooks, but after he'd been fired he hadn't been back to the Baratie since. And that was a long time ago now.

He found he was leading the man along in the wrong direction. But he didn't allow himself to be embarrassed when the man turned him around fully and prodded him towards the soft murmur of a crowd. Down a hallway they went, occasionally passing a few couples that gave them odd stares. Law couldn't blame them: a man in a suit and one in a sweater and jeans holding hands was sort of an oddity.

Yes, the man had the nerve to reach down and grasp his hand. He didn't particularly like the feeling of the man's hand cradling his. They were calloused and leathery, kind of like his wallet. Then again, the condition of his hands told him volumes about the rest of the person. Above all, it told him the man didn't just sit in an office twiddling his thumbs all day. Or at least he hadn't always sat in that office. Those hands held history, and for once Law was quite curious to learn what had shaped that skin.

His natural inquisitiveness was going to cost him one day. He just knew it.

There was already a fight going on in the ring when they arrived, and the sitting stands were packed with people. Luckily, the sides of the actual ring still had a few free spaces, but Law figured the man in his posh clothing would want to sit, rather than stand.

He was proven wrong when the man took control of the situation and brought them up to a spot just wide enough for a person and a half. Then the elbow came up and he jostled for a place. Law refused to be impressed when the guy who received that elbow took one look at Forty-Two and skedaddled.

They got their spot and watched the fight that was just finishing up. There were always many different styles to watch, as the Baratie was hardly discriminatory when it came to choosing fighters to amuse their crowd. Right now a man with algae green hair wielded swords against another who couldn't keep pace with his moves. The fencing came to an end when the algae-head stabbed at the man's chest after parrying a sloppy attack. The sword glanced off of the protective gear and the referee called for them to break apart.

Next up was a pair of boxers. The crowd seemed to enjoy them immensely, as streams of blood were actually drawn as blows connected to noses and cheeks that got sliced open. Law couldn't help but look up at the man. They were ridiculously close, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Law could feel his heat running through the fabric of their clothes. The lighting was slightly better in the fight room, and Law made out some more thin, pink scars on the man's face that he'd never noticed until now. There was, of course, the biggest scar above his eye, but a multitude of marks on his forehead were only now presenting themselves for his pleasure.

The man felt his eyes on him and turned his head to direct that animalistic stare to Law. "You bored, or what?"

"No, just checking you out," Law divulged with a half-grin. He didn't know whether he was joking or not. It was true that he'd been trying to take stock of his buyer, but to what extent? "You like the fights?"

"Yeah. Used to be a bit of a fighter myself, a long time ago. Sometimes it's a good stress reliever to punch someone's brains out through their nose."

This should have unnerved Law. Instead, he was snickering. "That so? Well, I guess that explains your scars."

"Oh, you noticed." The man appeared disconnected from his surroundings all of a sudden, his wolfish grin slipping from his features as he stared with glazed eyes over the top of Law's head.

"I have a few scars of my own," Law said truthfully, thinking of his back and the jagged pink lines that ran up and down the length of his spine. The mediocre light of the club hid those lines when he danced. The ones that were too noticeable, Thatch did work on.

"I never noticed." Of course he didn't. Thatch was a master at cover-up, at least when it came to thin lines of damaged skin.

They continued watching the fights. Martial artists came and went, some defeated, some triumphant. Eventually, they began a little harmless betting with no stakes involved. Law won a few of the bets, but he often liked to bet on the underdog, the thinner man. The one he most identified with. Whereas his client always placed his bet on the strongest, the rudest, or just in general the one who appeared fiercer.

Wining and losing like this meant nothing to Law, but the way the man smirked every time he won one of their bets irritated him. He was used to being the winner in all things amongst his friends, and he didn't like that smirk that mocked him in the semi-twilight. After a while he said, "We'll be here all night if we keep betting on people."

"I suppose you're right about that," the man said. He had taken the hint and moved off the side of the ring. "Do I need to take you home? Have I made you miss your curfew?"

Law snorted. His annoyance was piquing. "I can only take so much triviality."

"I'm just rubbing that beautiful hair of yours the wrong way."

They left the Baratie, and the man still insisted on keeping his hand on some part of Law, even though the stripper _delicately_ insisted on the contrary. Only when the man shut Law back inside the Ferrari did he have any freedom. Strangely enough, he found that freedom was rather cold.

Then the man pulled the driver's door closed, reached over with his other hand, and smoothed Law's hair down. Instinctively, Law jerked away.

"Sorry; I just wanted to feel it. It's been bugging me all night. I love the softness of your hair," the man said. Law, however, felt it was something more. The petting was a domineering move. The man wanted to exert his temporary ownership over him. Law had known this would happen eventually. There was an unfair power struggle at work here, and now the man had exposed it.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated, rather off-handedly, his hands firmly locked on the gearshift and the steering wheel. The car had already been turned on, and was purring almost silently in anticipation for the drive. "Look, just tell me where you live."

He'd broken a rule. The don't-ask-for-extremely-personal-information-whatever-you-freakin'-do rule. Without realizing it. His ignorance baffled Law.

"I'll just…give you directions from here. Go right out of the parking lot."

Law concentrated on giving commands, trying to decide where he'd lead the man to. Certainly not Bepo's apartment. And he hardly wanted to go back to the Pink Flamingo. It was closed at this hour, and besides, most of the busses had stopped running downtown. So that left only one possible place that would be relatively safe and not far from his temporary residence.

The only words Law and the man exchanged were directions. Turn here, turn there, right, left, straight through. The whites of the man's eyes shone in the reflection of light off his rearview mirror, the best sign a car was riding their bumper. Only when that car turned off did Law lose all of the man's facial expressions to the shadows within the vehicle.

"It's here. Turn right and just _stop_." The headlights revealed a line of trees, and in the not so far off distance a metal playground gleamed.

"Where are we? This is some sort of park."

Law nodded, then realized the man likely could barely make him out in the blackness. So he said, "Yeah, it's a park near my place. I can get home from here."

The man didn't question, only shifted the car into park and reached up between them to flick on a light that illuminated the interior of the car. This was the best light Law had seen the man in all night.

Red hair. Fierce eyes. Pinkish scars. Same old, same old. Pale skin. Rough features. A heavyset chest. A tantalizing bulge in his slacks…

"Your money's in the glove compartment. I separated it earlier, when your stylist was getting you ready," the man said brusquely. Law tore his eyes away for a moment, facing forward. Then the man leaned over him, his weight pressing against Law in the cramped space as he located the button that clicked the compartment open. As he withdrew, Law felt a wave of tension settle itself into his shoulders.

He grabbed the thick, manila envelope out of the glove compartment. Numbly, he noted that it was stacked on top of a variety of things. A few documents and a very dark case, which from his position he could see had a very long numerical lock on one side. Before he could jokingly ask what could possibly be in there, the man leaned over again and jerked the compartment shut.

His heat against Law's body suddenly became that much more welcome. Law felt the urge to climb over the center console and establish himself on the man's lap. Instead, he contented himself with thumbing through the money.

It was all there. How the hell this man could simply have all this cash in his freakin' car he did not know, and did not dare question. He almost wanted to make a run for it, but then another feeling washed over him not unlike the one he had just felt with the man brushing up against him. A strange mixture of lust and guilt.

He couldn't accept this man's money. Not without earning it. And, in his eyes, he hadn't earned even an eighth of the contents of the manila envelope.

It was imposing on his pride as a man.

Before he could use his better judgment and sprint off into the shadows of the night, he was leaning over the console with one hand on the steering wheel to steady himself and forcefully kissing pale lips.

He jumped a little, as was to be expected, but his quick conversion to animalistic desire startled Law even more. The man's arms slinked around his body, holding him in place, and those lips seared him, occasionally biting and holding him in place like a trapped animal. Leaving sharp jabs of pain. Then he was pulled into the man's lap, his back banging against the low steering wheel, and the seat was thrown back with a quick jab at a lever.

"Fuck," the redhead muttered as Law repositioned himself so he was closer to hugging every inch of chest that beckoned him. "_Fuck_." With a smirk, Law dove for the buttons of his overcoat, taking this opportunity to sink his taped fingers into the hot flesh that was revealed when he peeled back that crisp white shirt underneath.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the man's cheek as he finished off with the buttons and began to run his hands over smooth muscles, enjoying the dips and curves that were in no way perfectly shaped, but more than good enough for him. The way the man panted, heaving great exhales and slow, sensuous inhales, drove him to kiss the man senseless. Just to see if that pattern of intense breathing could be interrupted.

Up until that point, the most the man gave him was rough caresses under his sweater, but all of a sudden there was a hand in his hair, pulling him back and away. Law startled, getting ready to move on the offensive should this man decide to toss him after all, but devouring lips attached to his neck halted all coherent thought. Then came the attack. Never before had anyone bit him there, but just under his jaw he knew the skin would be faintly coloured to some extent tomorrow.

He let out a quiet gripe at being used, then tried to recover a bit of himself before he succumbed to this stranger's domineering traits by sniggering. The mouth slowed down and withdrew, unsure of what the dark chuckling meant.

Law took advantage of the hesitation. "I had hoped you wouldn't think I was going to let you go with nothing," Law whispered against parted lips. Then he kissed the man again, alight in the fact that he could feel something stirring down below. In those dark slacks there was definite movement.

Wishing to immediately confirm his suspicions, he snaked a hand down that trembling skin and over that bulky belt, palming the man through his slacks. He felt a tremendous twitch and the man let out a low groan. Absolutely shameless.

Law liked that. He liked that a lot.

So was his elation that he dropped his body between the man's feet, wriggling his butt, then his trim waist, past the steering wheel so he sat between the man's slacks. He grinned as the man's breathing hitched, and he kneaded the growing lump until rough, abrasive hands tore him away from his task. The man opened his pants himself, a powdering of rouge coating his cheeks.

Suddenly, the Ferrari's interior went as black as the night outside their comfy abode. The light overhead had flickered out, and the man instinctively scrambled to find the switch on the roof that would activate it again. But Law grabbed that roaming hand, pinned it down against a leather armrest, and whispered, "Leave it off. Close your eyes. Relax. Let _me_ do allthe work."

The man let out a shaky sigh and probed the shadows until he located the back of Law's head, then began to massage his scalp with the flat of his palm. Despite not being a fan of such callous use by a stranger and the darkness that didn't help his vision, Law managed to free the man from his slacks and whatever elastic banded undergarment lay under them. He felt the hot weight in his hands, smelled the tang of ecstasy in the humid air, and closed his eyes against the darkness as he brought his lips to his own hand, and then upwards to foreign flesh.

The fingers in his hair tightened, and the thighs he rested his elbows on shuddered twice, matching twin groans that resonated deep in that warm chest he laid his fingers on. He tongued the base of the man's erection, then licked up to the tip. Repeated. Flicked his tongue over veins and the ridge that flared out of the head. Played. Teased. Did as he pleased.

The man's orgasm was just beginning to build, if his trembling balls were any indication. Law closed his eyes as he lowered his lips as far as he could dare go in such a cramped space. The angle was wrong, any prospects of deep throating completely dashed, but he had a feeling his client was too far gone with his current nurtures to handle anything more passionate.

He pulled back just as the grunts began to get heady and the fingers in his hair started pulling too urgently. He could feel the heat of the man's length just in front of his face, and the cool metal and leather of the steering wheel on the back of his head. Those fingers tried to force him forward none to gently, but he sat firmly in place. He panted hot air over the tip of the man's erection, and in the inky dark he could swear that veined length convulsed happily.

"Do you have any special requests for a _beautiful_ finish?" Law asked, sultry voice breaking through the low panting that fogged up the windows of the car. He reached out with his fingertips and played with the man's foreskin, rolling it about between his thumb and index finger, pulling it taunt and then releasing it. "Would you like me to swallow? Squeeze your balls? Give you a nice sloppy kiss on the lips when I'm all done?"

Law chuckled as he realized that, even though his back ached from his bowed position seated atop floor mats on the bottom of the car, half under a steering wheel, he was having fun. He hadn't been with anyone intimately like this for a long time, and the excitement of being with a total stranger, in the dark, with an envelope containing a fortune stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, just thrilled him.

"All of the above," the man said breathlessly, resuming his petting of Law's head. He barked out a crude laugh when the skinnier man tried to pick his fingers away from his short, shaggy locks, clawing at him with sharp nails. He knew he was being irritating, but he absolutely had to have that texture between his fingers. Plus, both were beginning to sweat, and the dampness that clung to that hair was pleasantly muggy.

It was true, he just _had _to touch this man in some way. _Had to_. His very being was just so damn sensual, and to touch meant a connection to this force that had long captivated him.

"All of the above it is then," the stripper muttered, going back to work with increased suction, no longer intent on toying with him. He held the man's testicles in one hand, feeling that euphoria of being so in control of the man's pleasure, and poised his other hand in the air above the man's chest. Waiting for the perfect moment.

It came soon enough. He felt the shaft in his mouth tremble along with the flesh that he held in his hands, and squeezed his fingers, giving the man that final push. He heard the staggered breath, imagined the open mouth and glazed eyes, and felt the hot sticky substance coat his insides and begin to trickle down his throat. He tasted the salt and swirled the thick liquid towards the back of his throat with his tongue, swallowing it as fast as he could. He didn't much care for the texture, after all. Yet he couldn't deny that the taste hadn't been bad compared to others he'd had.

Just as Forty-Two began to come down from his high, he ripped his nails down the man's front, that hand in the air finally having something to do. The result was a trickling bit of come shooting forth, and he swallowed the last of what the man gave him with a grin that was entirely for himself.

A job well done.

His hand wandered up the side of the door, feeling the cool leather and metal until he came to a bunch of odd, protrusive shapes. He flicked one. By chance he heard the click of the car door locks. The man didn't notice. Or if he did he simply did not care.

Quickly Law wriggled back into Forty-Two's lap, and delivered the wet, sloppy kiss that he had promised. The man seemed too stunned into submission from his climax to reply to his affections properly. That or he hadn't been expecting to taste himself on the other man's tongue. Either way, it made getaway a walk in the park.

Or a run, in Law's case.

He pushed open the driver's door and leapt out, landing on his feet after a bit of awkward staggering to get his left leg free. He heard a panicked shout behind him, but following in the darkness was impossible and he knew the man wouldn't even try. He clutched the envelope in his pockets, feeling much better now that he could justify having earned it, and tore down a familiar park pathway. He could see that the Ferrari had been kicked into action, and high beams were illuminating the trees and surrounding pavement.

He was long gone, hiding amongst the small trees a volunteer group had planted, with a clear view of the car. Rubbing his sore joints, especially his neck, Law watched as the man circled the parking lot, doubtlessly scanning the trees looking for him, and then finally left. Peeling out of there, the acrid smell of burning rubber remaining long after the car was gone.

Law stretched and headed for Bepo's apartment, or more specifically his bathroom, intending to both count the money before dropping it into a bathtub to lie in triumphantly, and rub one out to the salty taste that lingered in his mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Out a day earlier than my usual! Well, this chapter was certainly straightforward, but I daresay there may have been some, ahem, _foreshadowing_ in there. Also, I think now is a fair enough time to warn you all that I'm not going to censor anything, because that's not really my style, so if that last scene caused any involuntary stomach contractions, I advise you to refrain from reading future chapters. That is the extent of my disclaimer (since I ALWAYS forget to put a little warning at the beginning of my stories...)

My wonderful reviewers, as always I thank thee for taking the time to leave me with something to chew on! You guys really spur me on to write quickly. I swear, I haven't been this productive in...ever.


	5. Fifth Fabrication

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Five – Fifth Fabrication_

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><p>"I was <em>raped<em>."

Doflamingo glared at him with a sneer. "Gee, Law, I'm not inclined to believe you since there's no sign of a struggle–"

"Here," Law snapped, thrusting an arm in front of Doflamingo's face. He pulled up the sleeve of his sweater to reveal an ugly purple ring around his wrist. "He bound me. He fucking _bound_ me. He cheated us. He was never going to pay me."

Doflamingo looked at the injury with minimal interest. "Your other wrist?" Law revealed his other arm, which bore a similar mark with slight variations on the shade of the bruise. "Where else is there evidence? Besides your fucking face."

As if on command, Law touched the left side of his temple, wincing as a sharp pang flashed behind his eyelids. "Would you like me to strip down?"

His heart fluttered weakly. This was the moment that would decide the outcome of this conversation.

"…No, I have no more interest," Doflamingo said with a cool chuckle. "It's amusing to see you all black and blue, and a damned shame that you didn't manage to get that man's money, but I suppose I'll just have to wave off the tax on your earnings. He paid me a flat rate to take you. So I didn't loose _that _much money because you're too weak to fight off a rapist."

While Dofla-fucking-mingo snickered at his stormy face, Law focused on some point beyond the pink fiend's crouched back, at the new wallpaper that had been put up. Tropical jungle was the new theme for the week, replacing the beachside views. Doflamingo's chair was an intricately woven bunch of bamboo branches, and he had his knees tucked up to his shoulders. It made Law squirm as he unwillingly imagined the strange contortions that tall and skinny man could probably pull off.

"Hidden fees? You earned money off of selling me after all," Law said coldly, pulling off an angry, yet subtle glare. Enough to make the man think he was fuming, but not enough to give away his true thoughts.

"Hidden fees, yes," Doflamingo said, idly picking at his cuticles. "I simply greeted the buyers and told them about some taxes my lovely dancers have to pay to the house. It made little difference to them where their money ended up. They were just happy they could get a warm body for the night. Even your stern-faced client forked over a hefty sum."

Law's brow furrowed. He hadn't the faintest clue about that. The man had never mentioned it. He had paid the price he bided to Law, yet it seemed a percentage of it had somehow gone into Doflamingo's sweaty hands. "So the dancers didn't know you were going to tax both the customer, getting one share, and then us afterward, when we were unaware, getting a _second_ share. You were going to cheat us all then? You're a fucking bastard."

Doflamingo grinned. "Oh, those dancers hardly noticed. At the end of the night, most of them were too shagged to walk straight. And the drugs I handed out free of charge… you should have hung around."

Law's eyes narrowed and he had to resist a persistent tick that wanted him to shake his head at the man. "That's sick."

"You ran off before I could try to get you a dose. So you have a memory of what happened. The others don't. Not really. If you value your job, which I know you do, you'll keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut. As for your alleged rapist, I'll try my best to get a better look at his face. Next time."

Then Doflamingo pulled out the cards that Law had been waiting for. "Remember our bet? You owe me for not collecting. You lost that little bet. A month of work for _nothing_ I believe we agreed on."

_Perfect, _Law thought. His plan was moving into action.

Law feigned mock anger and abruptly wheeled out of the room, letting the door strung over with realistic green vines slam shut behind his heels. He raced down the hall, dodging people dolled up and laced in black boots, wearing garters, and darted around various messes on the floor. He slipped on someone's spilled beverage, but crashed into a warm, solid chest that held him captive.

"Heart! What the fuck are you doing?" someone yelled. He didn't stop running until he had hid himself amongst a rack of iridescent shirts and pants, remnants of the time Doflamingo had them dressed as mermen. Beside that rack was a pile of clothing from the time they danced as pirates for the theme of Treasure Island. A gleaming gold hook, sensuously curved to elicit both feelings of danger and excitement, caught his eye.

He startled and found himself transported to his youth, where an eerily similar hook had plagued him in his worst nightmares. A fit of shivers worked down his spine, and his hand went to the small of his back, reliving a horrific occurrence long past.

Movement interrupted his dark thoughts. He watched from a distance as his House Mam disappeared into Doflamingo's room, only to reappear a few minutes later, searching the area with a peculiar expression on his face. He sighed and gave up on his hideaway. Time to stage an appearance.

The moment he left the racks Thatch locked on to his body, and sprinted over despite the fact that Law was clearly not going anywhere. A hand came down on his wrist and he winced, and found his ears ringing with a demanding voice in his ear.

"Okay, what the hell happened to you? And tell me the truth this time!" Thatch yelled, loosening his grip just enough to avoid aggravating the bruises on Law's skin. A lot of the dancers that had been sober the night of the auction glared daggers at him, while the other meek dancers with glazed eyes, the ones that had been sold in the same fashion as him, merely looked him over with vague awareness.

These people still believed he got the price he had been sold for. Soon though, word would get out through the grapevine about the supposed rape rather than riches, and no one would be the wiser. Those hateful glares would turn to pitying stares. The dancers would be once again content at having another one in their rank as utterly miserable as they themselves were.

Thatch yanked him around back, outside into the parking lot where the sun was setting and reflecting sharp rays off the hoods of various vehicles. The dancers they passed sneered, but Law kept his eyes down and didn't let himself get provoked. In time, they might offer guilt-driven apologies.

"Law, really. I want to know what the hell is going on. What _really _happened last night?" Thatch asked, eyes narrowed. He brushed a hand over the bruise on Law's temple, and rolled back the tattered sleeves on both of his arms. "Where the hell did these come from, and why did you want me to enhance them with makeup earlier?"

Law sighed and wondered just how much information would be safe to divulge to his House Mam. As he contemplated this, he caught sight of Ace leaping from the staircase out front and rushing around the side of the building, eyes locked on them, charging like a determined bull.

"Law! Where the fuck is he? Where's the guy who fucking _raped _you!" Ace stopped just short of them, panting and knocking Thatch's concerned hand from Law's arm, only to clamp down with heavy hands on both of his shoulders. "Marco wouldn't tell me anything, and he's in the back of the bar washing fucking _blood_ off of his hands! Is there anything left of the guy for me to pulverize?"

"Huh," Law said softly. "That's interesting."

"Law, don't just bullshit your way out of this," Thatch snapped, pulling a livid, ranting Ace off of Law's shoulders. "You look like you've been fucking beaten and I want to know why you're not letting us in on who did it. Why this silence?"

"Okay you two, calm down and let me explain this as best I can," Law said, relaxed and even cracking a smile. Thatch sighed and paused, but Ace was seeing through a red piece of chiffon, and was not having it.

"I'll peel the skin off his testicles like…like I'm peeling an orange or an avocado or something and then…then…"

"Food threats? Ace, shut up and let me speak," Law snapped, punching a stiff, tense shoulder. Ace, surprisingly, stopped naming peelable fruits and vegetables and stared at him with a deep frown and saucer eyeballs. "Look, don't freak out you two, but I did this to myself."

"How the hell can you punch yourself in the fucking face!" Thatch cried. "Well, I mean, Ace could probably manage to do it, but _you_?"

"That was something Marco kindly assisted me with."

Ace blinked, not entirely getting it, but Thatch had begun to rage. "What the hell Marco? Get your ass out here!" he screamed in the direction of the building.

"Shut up, Thatch! I haven't told you the whole story yet. Stop raising a goddamn alarm. What, do you want to attract the pink flamingo himself?" Thatch grit his teeth and Ace remained blinking, processing how the guy he occasionally fucked could have given his friend a black eye. Not to mention the gruesome sight he saw in the kitchen before coming out back…

"_What_?"

Law hit him again. "Shut up, Ace. Go find your favourite police officer if you can't handle this."

"I can handle this! Besides, Smokey's bustin' his nuts out of town this week."

Law shook his head, fully aware that Ace would not be able to handle what he was about to say. "Okay, so after I was sold last night to the guy–"

"What! You were _sold_? What the fuck _happened_ yesterday when I was given the night off?" Ace yelled, a vein in his temple bulging. Looking south a ways, Law noticed how dangerously the muscles in Ace's arms rippled, like he was scant seconds away from punching clean through a brick wall.

"Thatch can fill you in on that, I'm sure," Law said dryly. "Now, will you both kindly give me a few minutes to talk?"

Grudgingly polite, though hesitant nods all around.

"Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, right. After I was sold to that man last night, I went with him, had a nice little dinner at a fancy place, and basically had him drop me off in that quaint park near Bepo's place where I walked home with the sum of money I was promised. True story."

He left out some of the finer details, but that was the gist of it in his eyes.

"What about the rape?" they both asked in unison.

"There was no rape," Law said. "That was what I made up to keep Doflamingo away from _my _money. In other words, _I did not get paid last night because I was supposedly raped. _That fucker has cheated me one too many times. Now it's my turn to fuck with him. I hope that will deter him from holding any…future auctions."

Thatch brushed another concerned thumb over Law's temple. "Then who the hell gave you those bruises? They're real…"

"I told you. I did. I tied rope around my wrists and bruised my stomach using a few household items, including a soup ladle. It wasn't hard. I've been in worse pain. And my black eye came from getting Marco to lend me his fist for two minutes."

Ace opened his mouth, wordlessly gaping at him, but it was Thatch that voiced Ace's thoughts.

"And he didn't even _ask _you _why_ you wanted him to give you a black eye?"

"Marco doesn't like to pry into other people's business. So he was an ideal candidate. You two would have wanted to know more than I was willing to tell you."

"Damn right we would have," Ace growled. "I can't believe you did all this to avoid getting taxed by the pink bastard. There's got to be more you're not telling me! When did you get Marco to do this?"

"This morning."

They all turned to see Marco standing there, toweling off his hands and then throwing the grimy towel over his shoulder. He was entirely prepared to grab Ace by both arms before he could get a serving of broken nose.

"Ace, he asked nicely for me to hit him this morning. Showed up outside my apartment and everything. He was practically holding a bouquet of flowers."

"So you did it, just like that! What the fuck kind of friend are you?"

"The kind that does favours for other people."

"And what's with that blood you were washing off your hands earlier?"

"I cut myself with a knife preparing fruit to stick on the sides of some of the drinks I serve, Ace."

Law sighed and tuned out their squabbling, even though the argument centered around him. He knew Marco would eventually make Ace see sense, and after that they would probably disappear into one of the storage rooms far behind the bar area for a quick session before work. They were a somewhat predictable couple in that sense.

Thatch still wouldn't let of his arm. "Like Ace said, there's got to be more you're not telling us. What really happened with that man last night? I want to know if you're covering something up by supposedly _self_-inflicting harm on your body. What did he make you do? This isn't an innocent place full of innocent people. These people who come here are perverts, and your body was _bought _for some sort of purpose. Let's not be naïve."

"I have nothing more to say. Leave me be," Law said firmly. Thatch grunted and relinquished his grip on Law's sweater. "Now, I have your fees, Thatch."

"Forget it. I don't need makeup fees from you right now. Just come backstage and let me do you up. Doflamingo wants all the dancers in exotic furs tonight, to make you resemble animals. Guess what he wants you to be, Law?"

"A pink hippo."

"A Dalmatian," Thatch corrected.

"_Fuck him_. Why the hell do I get to be a _dog_?"

Thatch snickered as they went backstage, then he disappeared into a wardrobe of feathers, sequins, fluffy fabrics and bejeweled heels. His voice filtered through the bright, flamboyant catastrophe. "Originally he thought of making you an ass, but just a few minutes ago he called me in to change it to a Dalmatian. Didn't tell me why at the time, but I now believe he wants to hide your bruises."

"Fuck him to hell. I bet he wants me to do it _doggy style _on the dance floor."

"You know it."

* * *

><p>The black leather dog collar itched but he couldn't scratch his neck for fear of slicing his hands open on the decorative spikes. Doflamingo was going to pay for this.<p>

Law didn't want to look at himself in the mirror, but Thatch nudged him into the spotlight. He wore spotted boxers, which really weren't that bad save for the stuffed white tail that had been attached to the back and fell between his legs. Then there was the matter of the headband and the floppy ears that swished against his real, human ears when he walked. And not to mention the fact Thatch had painted his body with a dusty white powder that had him sneezing and then overlaid certain areas with coal black paint. Spots. Everywhere there were spots. If he hadn't been conscious for the entire ordeal of getting ready, he would have whipped out his dick to check if it, too, had spots on it.

"I fucking hate that man."

"We know, Law, we know," Ace said, trotting up to stand beside him in the mirror. "I hate him too." Ever since Law had visited the head honcho's office earlier, the entire program for the night had been changed. Now they were doing a doggy special.

Law just knew he was going to be Ace's bitch. It was so fucking obvious.

Ace had been dressed as a brown bullmastiff. He had been dragged to the spray room in the back to get doused with a spray-on tan, and he was a sunkissed golden brown. Much more appealing than the mess that Doflamingo had insisted on for him.

"It could be worse," Ace offered as they took their places behind the screen. There was a low hum from the crowd, many voices whispering to one another about the theme of the night, no doubt. Law could practically hear the excitement in the audience's overall tone.

"I don't see how it could be worse."

"Pinkie could have made you a pink poodle with a red bowtie on the top of your head."

Law sighed, for once feeling the slightest hint of relief. "True, that. Don't give him that idea."

"Like I would."

Thatch shushed them and gestured madly to the clock that gave them a countdown to the rise of the curtain. Less than five minutes to go. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Wag your tail out there!" Ace shouted as the curtain rose and he struck a pose to the first chord of music.

* * *

><p>Law focused on repressing the memories of twenty minutes ago into his subconscious mind while hiding out in the washroom, seated atop the toilet, head in his hands. His doggy ears obscured his pale face.<p>

"I'll give you a doggybone if you get out of there."

The coaxing. Oh the coaxing. Thatch was not going to get him out of the washroom with _that_.

"Screw you! Were you not watching what happened on stage? I've never been so fucking _humiliated_ in my life!"

"Look, Law…" Ace's voice, calm and serious, completely in tune with his friend's suffering. "Even _I _had no idea he was going to get the other dancers to burst onto the stage and–"

"Pretend to fuck me? Mount me? Like I'm some bitch in heat–"

"Neither of us knew," Thatch said, exasperated, through the wood door. "The dancers were all summoned to Doflamingo's office, and not one of them came out sober! He gave them something to turn them into animals, okay?"

Law knew that already, of course. He had seen how those men, some Ace's size and others smaller than even him, had charged him with blind intent, with glassy eyes. They had barely known what they were doing. They were just following a rigid set of instructions for the amusement of others.

Doflamingo was a great manipulator of human bodies.

"Look, just leave me to wallow in my own self-pity," Law snapped. "I'm mortified, not injured. I don't know why the two of you won't leave me be."

"Emotional scars sometime hurt more than physical ones," Ace said sagely. Every once and a while, Ace had something wise to say. Law felt himself calm down and he actually got up to slump against the door, listening to retreating footsteps. He gave them ample time to get away before leaving his temporary sanctuary, and darted around the backstage, avoiding other people dressed as dogs, all sprawled out on the floor or slumped against a nearby object, whether that was a wall or another body. Some were unconscious. All weren't fully aware of themselves.

He dodged a falling chocolate Labrador with a painted on pink nose and sidled up to the papers tacked to the wall. Backstage was total pandemonium, and Thatch had more pressing places to be than in front of his papers. Tending to the groaning and moaning, no doubt. He looked at the sheets in front of his eyes. Numbers, numbers, numbers.

Under his name, there were many numbers.

He felt sick.

He hadn't eaten. Nothing came up. That was just as well considering it was going to be a long night of lap dances. For free. God, he didn't want to be someone's lap dog. It was degrading to be dressed this way to begin with.

Still, he needed to keep up appearances with the pink fiend. He had a month of earning nothing ahead of him. It was their little secret.

He took down the numbers on a slip of paper, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure nobody was watching him too intently. Ace was likely already out making his own rounds, and Thatch was out of sight. Doflamingo was probably still in his private box overlooking the stage, watching with delight some of the later acts. All he knew was that it involved dogs and tricks.

It would surely belittle many. He had no inclination to watch the suffering of others today, no matter how mindless some of the dancers were. It would only serve to remind him of what he had been subjected to.

He finished writing down the numbers for tables he would have to attend to, and then stopped, looking over the scrawl at the second last number he'd written on autopilot.

_So he's back_, Law thought. Of course. Still, a glimmer of hope in Law wished that forty-two was not the same man, for only tonight. He wished the man hadn't seen _that _freakish spectacle of bestiality.

Yet, if he wasn't present, then the plan he'd thought up while bathing in his bathtub full of money yesterday would not work. The month of working for nothing would _truly_ be for naught.

He knew he had to go to that table first. That had been what the man had asked of him. To ignore all others and come straight to him. His money spoke volumes that way.

Besides, whatever the man gave him would turn into his primary earnings from now on.

He grabbed a nearby dressing robe that reached his ankles, this one a dark navy that would appear black under the lights in the club, and darted out of the backstage area, entering into the audience. Covered, nobody touched him or even took much notice of him or his floppy ears, and he supposed he lost about a hundred dollars for not flaunting himself, but at this point he didn't care. Money gathered in his boxers wasn't his money any more.

He just had to know if _that man _was present to see his humiliation.

In the pit of his chest he felt the innate need to salvage his pride. None of the others mattered, but this man, this man _mattered_. He mattered a whole hell of a lot. He was the golden ticket out of slumville. If only he could keep him a secret from the fiend of the club.

After he bathed last night in all that he'd earned over the past week, Law had come to the conclusion that he needed to act quickly. He wasn't afraid of pushing the boundaries. Not when this man gave him the opportunity to break free of his night job.

He just had to make sure this man was still a customer. That he was still a regular. After all, he had run out on him, literally. That hadn't been wise. But what could he have done? Waited until the man got it in his head to fuck him in the backseat of his Ferrari?

He wasn't ready to handle the repercussions of something like that.

He could see the red hair gleaming under the light that hung from the ceiling just south of table forty-two. The man was looking for him, proud pale forehead furrowed as he scanned the crowd of people and dancers moving about their ranks. It wasn't until Law was right in front of him and draping his robe over the backside of a nearby chair that the man took stock of who it was standing scantly clothed in front of him.

"_Heart_."

"My apologies," Trafalgar said immediately. He was going to launch right into an endearing account that would remedy any and all problems his actions may have caused. "I did not mean to run out on you so…_abruptly_ last night. I had just remembered that at home I had to–"

"What happened to you?" the man asked, cutting him off.

Law figured he meant how he was mauled by at least ten other dancers dressed as fluffy dogs. "Well, the dancers were drugged and unfortunately I became their fucking bitch, but I'm sure you don't think I was weak enough not to–"

"No, no, not that," the man barked impatiently, grabbing a hold of Law's wrist. He winced and hurried closer to make sure the man didn't hurt him any more unintentionally. "_This_."

A strong hand clutched his chin and turned his face to the right, exposing his left cheek for scrutiny and, above it, his bruised temple. It was a different shade from the spots Thatch had applied. More purple than black. Thatch had assured him that nobody would notice.

But this man wasn't exactly a _nobody_.

"Who did this to you?" Forty-Two hissed. The fingers tightened around the loose skin on his chin, digging into his stubble.

Law shrugged off the brutal fingers with a twist of his head. "I did it myself. Now watch the wrists, they're tender."

"Like fuck you did this to yourself! What, are you going to tell me you slipped and fell, or got your wrists, _both of them_, stuck in a door? I don't fucking think so! Tell me the bastard's name!"

_It was you, apparently, _Law thought with a grimace. He really couldn't tell the man about his plot to get back at his boss. His Plan Fucking A. It would majorly jeopardize his chances at artfully leeching more money out of this man's wallet.

"I told you. It was _me._ I did this to myself. I'm not a masochist, but I have my reasons. It's none of your business."

The man pulled him forward by his waist, and Law had no choice but to clamor onto the lap of a man who was fuming and muttering profanities under his breath.

_Shit,_ thought Law, _This guy's about as bad as Ace. Worse, maybe._

"I don't care if you think this isn't my business. Anyone who hurts you is automatically _my _business," hissed the man. "So tell me who touched you between the moment you were sucking my dick and now."

"Look," he said, gritting his teeth, "I'm telling you the truth. Just don't worry too much about me. I'm _perfectly _fine. In fact, I'd _love_ to go with you somewhere again tonight. If you're willing."

The words slipped out before he could really think too far into the future. He just…couldn't bear to stay. Besides, he knew he could handle the repercussions of disappearing, so long as he managed to scrounge up enough money to appease Doflamingo when the time came.

The man's face crumpled as he mulled that over. Finally, he said softly, "Something has changed about you. But I'll take you up on that offer, if your employer isn't going to go apeshit when he finds out you're gone."

"Oh, he won't find out. Trust me. I'm sure you can be as sneaky as I am."

Rather pointy white teeth shone in the darkness as the man grinned. Soon Law found himself sneaking backstage to change into his street clothes. He managed to slip into one of the shower rooms and rub all of the powder off his body before anyone inquired as to who was running the water. Thatch was nowhere to be seen, and he hurriedly scribbled a vague note for Ace and stuck it next to his numbers for lap dances with a piece of fresh chewing gum he found discarded nearby. Disgusting, but it would suffice.

He snuck out the backdoor into the parking lot, taking care not to let anyone identify him by wrapping himself in the navy robe he stole and planned to abandon. He walked calmly all the way to the parkade down the street, where he waited for the red Ferrari to appear.

It didn't. An orange Camaro stopped alongside him instead, engine rumbling and carbon dioxide stinking up the air. He waited, pretending to look down the street in hopes that his ignoring tactic would make the car go away before the red Ferrari found its path blocked. No cigar. The engine revved once, and Trafalgar looked back at it, feigning limited interest. The tinted window had been rolled down, and he leisurely stooped to see whom it was who wouldn't leave him be.

Figured.

He yanked open the flashy door and slid in easily, aided by the slippery leather seats. "You changed cars."

"I have one for every day of the week."

Typical.

"You should have warned me," Law said with a nervous chuckle.

"I'm sorry," the man said, snickering. He shifted to put the car into drive, and Law noticed that instead of some sort of center console and gearshift, the car was customized to have the gearshift up near the steering wheel. So really, it was simply one big seat they were sitting their butts down on, and Law could easily reach across and touch the man. "It didn't occur to me to let you know."

"I didn't think–"

And then he felt it. A hand sliding onto the top of his thigh, resting there. Unyielding to a squirm of discomfort.

Now he knew why the man had chosen to bring this car. The one with no hindrance between them.

He couldn't protest. He would deal with any little touches that came his way.

"Do you mind where we go today?" the man asked.

"Not at all. But remember my rate." Law plastered on a tiny grin. But he was feeling mighty feeble as it was.

The redhead got them onto the street, then from there onto the freeway that would take them out of the downtown slums. "What _is _your rate? You've never told me. Or is it now eight thousand a night?"

"And five hundred," Law added with a sultry smile. The man laughed, the only one in the world, Law thought, that would laugh at a sum like that. A sum that would cover his first year tuition and books, and maybe a bit of residence, as the medical school he adamantly wanted to go to was far away from Bepo's apartment.

It was time to get cute, much as that word tasted nasty in his mouth. "I'm kidding. There's no way you have to pay that much for me to come with you. I'd come for less than half that."

"Heart, I'd still pay that sum."

"I didn't earn it last time," admitted Law. It was half a lie, since he partly believed the blowjob was worth a million bucks. Yet the other, rational part of him knew his worth was much less than that. Even though he blew the man and humoured him with dinner, he knew he didn't earn that amount of the money. And it was a blow to his conscience, in some weird fashion. He could handle plotting to glean as much money as he could from someone, but forty-two was just too damn easy to manipulate to make it feel _fair_.

Regardless, he knew he would keep manipulating in pursuit of his greater goal. The goal of Plan Fucking A. He would just have to suck it up and stoop a little lower. "So tonight's free. Just tonight."

The man was giving him ample opportunity to sweeten the deal. He wanted to get the man hooked on him. To ensure he kept returning. To make him his primary source of income. What better way to do that than give him a test run night? He would surely get many others that would end in a wad of cash.

Which was all that mattered in the end.

"We'll see," was all the man said as he switched lanes to pass a vehicle.

They continued to speed along, and with all that happened to him tonight he didn't really care to make idle conversation. So he just sat there, staring into the dusk and the illuminated signs that interrupted the endless stretch of highway, kneading his aching bruises. Until he noticed that they were driving through the strip the city bus took him past in the evenings. The posh neighborhoods.

"Where are we going exactly?" he asked suddenly. The warm hand on his thigh, which hadn't made a move in over fifteen minutes, clenched him and he jumped in place, startled. Then he felt a circular motion and discovered the man was attempting to give him a massage with his fingertips. It only served to make him hot and flustered. And he did not want to become either of those things. He wanted to remain in control.

He removed the hand by picking up the wrist, and placed it on the steering wheel where it belonged. It was a subtle rejection, but the man didn't act as if he really understood that much.

"We're going back to my place. I don't want you running away this time."

Law's eyes widened. Suddenly he was reliving his morning in Bepo's apartment, fiddling around with rope and placing it around his wrists, twisting them so they bruised brutally. Binding himself with a pair of industrial scissors nearby that Bepo kept amongst his construction tools.

Bound. That's what he was afraid the man had in mind for later.

"Pull over."

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said. "I just want to take you somewhere we can both relax at."

Words meant nothing. Law assumed lies until they had been proven truths. "Pull over," he repeated. "Let me out. I've changed my mind."

"We're already here," the man said, slowing the Camaro to turn into a building. Or at least they would have crashed into a wall, had that wall not jolted to life and revealed a hidden driveway that the man drove leisurely into. They went down under the building, onto a floor below the ground. Law felt his heart sinking with the car.

Lights came on overhead and he blinked at the harsh glare of the concrete, waiting for his eyes to adjust as the Camaro swerved and reversed, then finally rolled to a stop. Once he managed to blink away the kaleidoscopic circles in his sight, he took in the underground and found himself in a parkade of sorts. With exactly seven vehicles now parked in it.

The red Ferrari sitting dolefully across from them only solidified his theories. The building belonged to this man. The entire fucking building and everything in it. There was no doubt. His gut just knew.

A screeching noise echoed along the concrete, and the shaft of light that had come from streetlamps outside was cut off. The underground carport had closed.

He was trapped.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Sorry for all the late replies to reviews and such! Life happened. And don't we all know how crazy life can get!


	6. Sixth Spiel

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Six – Sixth Spiel_

* * *

><p>He wouldn't move.<p>

It's not that Law couldn't. It was that he refused to.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man repeated for the umpteenth time. "At least not right this very second. But if you provoke me exceedingly…"

The threat hung in the air between them.

Law tightened his grip on the steering wheel, where he'd attached his palms like the suckers of two large, bony leeches. The man had his hands on his hips, but so far hadn't forced him out of the car in his third attempt.

Until now.

He felt those hands slip under his sweater and caress his chest. He kicked out, landing a sneaker squarely in the chest of his assailant.

"I take back what I said earlier, about not minding where we go tonight! I _despise_ confined spaces! I'm fucking _claustrophobic _when it comes to being surrounded by concrete deep underground! It's like a goddamn _cellar_!"

"We're not that deep underground. Only about two stories down," the man insisted, wheezing slightly as he retreated for the third time. He rubbed the sore spot where Law had struck him. "If you're so damn afraid of coming out of the car, I'll carry you to 'safety' like a fainting maiden for fuck's sake."

Law took the momentary reprieve and crawled across the seat, settling himself on the driver's side, huddled against the door. He tucked his feet up under him and glared.

The first and second attempt to rip him from the safety of the vehicle, both involving some form of pulling and prodding, had failed. Massaging his chest and trying to get him to loosen his grip enough to tear him off the steering wheel had also failed. The man was loosing his patience.

And his temper.

In his youth he had spent two years in juvenile detention for assault, and a few more in anger management therapy. The training he received involved in both of those things he'd been sandwiched with disappeared when situations like this arose. Situations where he didn't get his way.

The man ducked into the passenger side and was given a kick for his advance. He took the deliverer by his ankle, pined it, and waited for the thrashing. Soon he had both legs under control. His fourth attempt was running smoothly so far.

"Let me the fuck go," Law snarled at the man, who flattened his knees painfully against the seat.

"Promise me you'll get out of the car and follow me upstairs to my penthouse?"

"Fuck you, asshole. I knew you were too fucking good to be true, I just wouldn't admit it to myself," Law spat. "Giving me thousands of dollars? Either you're an obsessive rapist, which would go _brilliantly _with what I've told my boss, or you're a fraud who took out a loan, and you're going to rape me and take back all my money to the bank without paying interest. A true fucking criminal."

"Either way I'm apparently a rapist," the man mused, sliding his body up against Law's. Still Law wouldn't let go of the steering wheel. It left the man little choice. "So you won't get out of the car…"

"Get this car out of this concrete hell right now and _maybe, _just _maybe _I'll get out of the car."

"Feisty, definitely feisty, Heart. But I really don't know where you live, since you haven't told me. Besides, I just want to feed you. Is that really so strange? That's my objective right there, spelled out for you! My _only_ inclination for the evening. You're skin and bones, with a little bit of hair and a whole lot of attitude. I don't have any intentions of raping you," he insisted. The man inched his way up Law's lower half, using his much larger body to press him into the seat. When they were nearly crotch-to-crotch and eye-to-eye, one hand came off the steering wheel.

And a taloned finger poked the man in the forehead.

"_Fuck_!" the man shouted as that sharp fingernail continued to jab, acting as a blunt needle that never penetrated. Then a palm and finally nails clawed at his face desperately. He caught the hand, pinned it to the unyielding window behind them, and saw that steam was beginning to climb up the glass as their struggle amplified.

The remaining hand held fast to the steering wheel, no matter how he tried to pry the fingers off. The moment he got one finger to give way and moved to the next, the first finger would reattach. It was like trying to remove the suckers of an octopus.

"Would you just let go already!"

"Fuck you," Trafalgar growled, spitting into the face of his captor. It made nary a dent considering his aim in his current predicament was far from superb, and most of his spit went sailing past the man's cheek to hit the leather seat. "You haven't won anything except the title of World's Biggest Asshole."

"You're really provoking me now," the man hissed, eyes flashing and red hair beginning to get slick with sweat. They were both panting, iron wills clashing.

"And you're provoking _me_," Law wheezed, rapidly becoming lightheaded with a lack of oxygen, entirely the fault of the man on top of him, crushing his chest so his lungs became two flat pancakes.

Then the man made the mistake of putting his head too close in an attempt to break his will by crushing the smaller of the two of them up against the window, making him feel _more _claustrophobic in the car rather than outside of it. He was bitten. Hard.

"_Fuck!" _the man shrieked as his neck received the full ruthlessness of teeth sinking into his windpipe. A flash of red coated his vision and he reacted on instinct, using his free hand to grab at the source of his pain. It latched onto the neck of the man under him, who'd been so damn tranquil only minutes before they'd entered the parkade.

He clenched the muscles in his fingers, feeling the gasp for breath and the bulging of the man's throat. He heard the wheezing, the frantic choking. Then the silence. Nothing but his own labored breathing and the soft _tinking _of his Camaro as the engine settled down to rest for the night.

The man withdrew. Stormed over to the other side of the vehicle, holding his throat where he was sure there would be a shark bite bruising his skin, and opened the driver's side door. The body slumped half out, the man's hair nearly brushing the pavement.

The hand still clutched the steering wheel, knuckles ghostly. Even in unconsciousness.

Angry beyond words, the man grabbed Law by the shoulders and pulled him away from his sanctuary. His task was easy with Law out of it, and the body came to rest on the ground, the man taking a few steps back to take in the full picture.

He felt the overwhelming urge to just kick the unconscious body on the pavement. Then he took a few deep breaths, looked away to his rows of cars, and steadied his heart rate. Took another look at the body. Realized he could never hurt that man with the intent to maim. He was much too beautiful to kick in the gut, no matter what he did to him. Bite him, slam a sneaker into his chest, slap at his face…nothing would change the attraction he felt for this dancer.

He would still be haunted by those smoky eyes and the little upside down heart painted under the man's right eye, coming out of the corner like a tear. His own heart pounded painfully and he dropped to his hands and knees, ear to the man's chest, listening.

No, he hadn't just accidentally murdered a stripper turned personal prostitute.

The man sighed and gathered up the body into his arms, flinging the limp limbs over his shoulder. He was extremely tempted to touch the man in inappropriate places while he was unaware, but apart from supporting his ass to prevent him from falling to the ground, his pride prevented such low behavior.

If he were to do anything, he preferred to have the stripper awake.

With this in mind, he stalked towards the elevator. His company occupied the first fifty floors, and his penthouse the last three. The second level of the parkade was for company cars, the first for himself and any personal visitors he might have. He liked it that way.

Riding the almost entirely glass elevator offered a fine view of the city at night, and he wondered if the man in his arms was afraid of heights to boot. Perhaps it had been better that he'd 'accidentally' knocked the man out. It was certainly easier to get him in and out of the elevator, anyway.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, top floor, the one that held his expansive bedroom. The level beneath that, which could be accessed only by a rolling staircase, had a kitchen complete with dining area, several more rooms of various importance, a small art gallery, his living room, and an office space. The level below that one, the final level, held a pool and workout facility. Among other things.

He kicked off his shoes and strode over to the kingly bed that occupied a wall that had been painted a striking red. He gently placed the body down on his yellow and black lizard-print sheets, resisting another urge to undress the man and explore in detail the body that had danced so skillfully around that cold metal pole. Instead of giving in to his animalistic desires, he undid grimy shoelaces and slipped off the dirty sneakers that had assaulted him only minutes earlier. Those he tossed beside the bed carelessly, hearing them fall to the floor to be forgotten.

He looked down on the man, arranged a tuff of unruly dark hair so it sat flat, then turned and headed for the nearby spiral staircase, an interesting mix of nuts and bolts. He had built it himself for fun, knocked out a section of the top floor and the floor beneath that, and made it so that it would be the piece that held the puzzle of his apartment together, so as to speak.

He went down into the kitchen and got to work on what he had been originally planning. Dinner for two.

* * *

><p>Law awoke gradually, blinked, then shot up into the air. He scrambled to his feet so quickly that his knees buckled and he fell on the hardwood floor, splayed out on his stomach. His head throbbed and he lay still for a minute as he got his bearings. He was really, <em>really <em>sore, feeling as though someone not only hit his head with a sledgehammer, but also threw his body through a rotating dryer cycle. Cramps, _everywhere_. He almost debated sending himself back to the world of the unconscious. Then he breathed deeply and his blood froze in his veins.

This scent clinging to his nostrils did not smell like the bearish body odour that adhered to every air particle in Bepo's apartment. Nor did it smell particularly smoky with the faintest odour of piss like the Pink Flamingo.

A flash of orange crossed his mind. Camaro. Man driving. Underground parking. Fingers around his neck.

He rolled over onto his back, preparing for the worst. All he saw was a mishmash of wild colours, brilliant yellows, bloody reds, vibrant blues, and a whole lot of stainless steel fixtures. Violently white lights beaming down on him from overhead forced his eyes shut.

"I have fallen into a world of primary colours," Law muttered, getting to his feet with a little help from the bed he'd fallen off of. He took in the silky sheets he clutched in one hand, the lizard-print, yellow and black, that only complimented the one yellow wall that the bed was adjacent to.

The other two walls were red and blue, respectively. The fourth wall was a window that overlooked the city, which sparkled at night. He wondered if he could see Bepo's diminutive apartment building from this height, pick out the lights that were on the top of the building.

Probably not. Whoever designed the city made sure to hide the squalor.

"Well Mr. Heart, you have really fucked yourself over this time," Law mumbled, moving cautiously about the room as if the floorboard hid mines beneath them. It was very minimalistic, which made him wonder where all the clutter of a normal home was hidden. Bepo's apartment had no empty counter, no corner of the room left unfilled by a piece of secondhand furniture or an empty pizza box serving as extra storage.

This place, wherever he was, was indeed eerie.

He spotted his shoes beside the bed and quickly stuffed his socked feet back in. He wasn't planning on staying longer than necessary. He'd just stay long enough to find an exit.

Fully equipped, he went up to the window-wall, as that was the best way of describing this massive piece of glass that he'd thought only existed in Hollywood movies, and stared out at the blinking lights of the city. It was the kind of panoramic shot one would find on a postcard sold for a whopping five dollars.

He experienced the incredible desire to whip out his dick and piss all over the window. Just to piss a certain homicidal redhead off. But he refrained from getting back at him on account of how there was literally nothing in his system at the moment.

Was he ever hungry. The growl his stomach made sounded like Bepo's snoring, long and drawn out with a certain rancorous intensity. He needed to eat.

Well, it was time to take one from his ancestors and go on a hunting and gathering venture.

He snuck over to the stairwell he could see that curved fully around several times as it descended into the dark bowels of some undiscovered place. He stepped hesitantly upon the landing and looked down at the assortment of nuts and bolts and metals planks welded together seemingly at random. Was this thing even safe?

Well, it was no weirder than the colours in the room. He deemed it safe using that standard.

"One small step for man, one giant leap for me if I start to fall," Trafalgar whispered as he began his descent. He was rather delirious at the moment, head foggy as he was still recovering from his fainting bout. Surprisingly, the stairs neither creaked nor gave way under him. He wanted to believe that they were well built, not just because he probably weighed no more than a down-stuffed pillow.

Two rotations later and he was staring down at a kitchen area, grasping the wiry railing to comfort his palpitating heart. With the appearance of something normal, though still in bright colours, this fairy-tale place was starting to resemble an actual home. He then heard a scuffing along the dark mahogany floorboards that he could see made up the flooring around here.

He crouched low, obscuring himself behind a thick piece of sheet metal that had been glued on an angle between the stairs and the railing for decorative effect. Or structural need. He didn't know enough about bizarre contemporary staircases to discern the sheet metal's purpose.

It hid his slight body from sight and that was good enough for him.

He peered through a gap in the spacing between this piece of sheet metal and the next as the footsteps intensified. He already knew who would appear; a shock of red hair only confirmed his need to hide out. Forty-Two was in the kitchen.

Monsieur Forty-Two was fucking cooking.

Law's cynical brain had to admit to Law's ravenous stomach that the smell that wafted up the staircase truly was to die for. But he would sooner die than race down the stairs and kiss the chef.

He slinked down the stairs on his butt, wary to keep his movements slow and quiet. The staircase continued down, down, down, and he figured that if he went down far enough he'd eventually make it to the bottom of this rabbit hole. With all luck, the bottom would host an exit of sorts.

He grinned and left the kitchen behind. When he was out of sight and beneath the flooring he stood up, brushed his jeans off, and confidently hiked down those metal steps. His surroundings gradually opened up to showcase an expansive room that made him lose his breath and nearly his balance.

Law's intelligent brain put Law's dumb legs on autopilot until he reached the bottom of the stairs, staring out with buggy eyes at an impossibly beautiful room. How was it that this apartment could continue getting weirder and weirder? Was there ever a limit to the oddities?

He felt like he was in some sort of box, yet he did not experience the pressing feeling of his claustrophobia. What he saw was not concrete walls but brilliant cerulean glass ones surrounding the staircase in one corner of the room. He had landed himself in a well-lit aquarium, the kind he sometimes studied over a cup of scalding tea in a pamphlet Penguin had collected from an old workplace, usually a tourist center.

He wandered into the blue abyss, watching the lightshow as many hundreds of fish swam idly, flicking their florescent tails. He observed a school of tiny fish scatter when a large grey monstrosity the size of his forearm began snapping a few bites here and there. Then the school settled down and regrouped, going about their lives as if Uncle Flipper and Auntie Fins didn't just disappear down a neighbour's gullet.

"Feels like I'm in a submarine," he muttered, his eyes glazing over at the beauty of it all.

It was utterly enthralling to just be a spectator. He walked the perimeter of the room, noting how there were many cavernous rocks and swaying plants for the fish to hide in, and how this aquatic ecosystem seemingly maintained itself down to the algae coating the glass in each of the four corners of the room.

He almost fell into a pool.

He hadn't noticed it, being so captivated by the aquarium walls, but there it was at his feet, sparkling up at him. Not an Olympic sized pool, no, but not some sissy hip-wader either. Even though a pool was not nearly as interesting as the aquarium flanking him on all sides, he still spared it a moment and looked down into its depths.

More fish.

_What_?

He blinked and shook his head as a rainbow coloured school of minnows, probably fish feed, raced by just inches from his toes. Perhaps the aquarium on the sides of the wall was somehow attached to the one below his feet?

How would that even be possible?

He shook his head at the oddity below him that needed an explanation, raised his eyes to the aquarium once more, and that was about when he saw _it_.

There was a fucking shark on the other side of the fucking glass. As long as he was tall, and five times his weight. And it was staring at him.

If sharks could make expressions, this one would be grinning and winking. He closed his eyes and settled on maintaining a steady heart rate.

_Fucking_ _cool_, was the extent of his thoughts.

Then he heard footsteps from above. A steady clopping that got louder and louder. Steps. Stairs.

_Fucking not cool_.

Trafalgar searched the room for someplace to hide, only now noticing the exercise equipment on one side of the pool. It didn't look like he could curl up behind a machine, and hiding behind the stairs was out of the question as it was styled to give the best possible view of the surroundings. A little rail and thin steps, nothing more. Nowhere to go.

But down.

He glanced at the shark, a great spotted grey thing with an elongated tail that, alone, must have weighted triple what he did, and made a very stupid decision.

He slipped into the pool. Sneakers on and everything.

Fuck if he was going to let that redhead choke him again and relocate his unconscious body to God knows where. He'd rather swim with the shark. If the shark even had access to this pool on the floor.

The water filled his ears as he submerged, and he opened his eyes against his better judgment to find a world beneath the surface. In addition to those tiny minnows there were bigger fish, and he could see in the not so far off distance one the size of his torso. He kept still as he sunk. Very still.

Then his feet hit the bottom of the tank and halted his descent, no more than ten feet below the surface. Damn it. No way would this be deep enough.

Then he remembered something that should have been his first thought had blind panic not set in. The blatant fact that he couldn't swim.

Flailing his way back to the surface was not, by any account, his most graceful moment. He surfaced hacking away, wondering how on earth that redhead had driven him to such an extreme.

He was pulled from the pool by his elbows, and his butt jerked painfully over the concrete ledge before the hands let go of him.

"Fuck you," he managed to spit out as a laughing red blob clouded his vision and he hacked up half a lung of water. He did not want to think what kind of disgusting things had been floating around in that water and were now swimming merrily in his body. Thankfully, the one thing that this man was good for was keeping away scientific thoughts with his mere presence.

"Whatever happened to the adorable man who snuggled into my lap in the club?" the man asked with a grin that showed he was anything but serious.

Law repeated his curses as he was hauled to his feet. Miraculously, a towel was draped around his shoulders, and it occurred to him then that the man had likely been watching him for a longer period of time than he'd thought. Preparing for the moment he resurfaced.

Shit. Still, he could use his apparent idiocy to his advantage in some way.

"Decided to go for a swim before dinner?"

"What the fuck is up with the creepy shark?" Law retaliated, looking about the room in an attempt to locate it. The room was warm enough to keep him from shivering, not that he would show any more weakness to this man that so casually handed him a towel after he nearly drowned himself.

"The shark's name is Killer."

"I asked what the fuck was up with it, not whether or not it had a fucking name," Law growled. He was getting irritated standing there dripping wet. He figured it had something to do with how he'd been knocked unconscious, woke up in a foreign place, and nearly drowned.

"Your manners are shittier than I first thought." The man looked anything but put off by Law's colourful language, which could quite possibly compete with the colourfulness of his home. "You should take off those clothes and get into something dry," the man said with a bemused smile, his eyes taking a dip downwards.

Law fixed him with a dark stare when those eyes came back up to meet his. No way was he getting butt naked in front of this guy. "Suck my dick."

"Gladly."

"I meant screw off."

The man chuckled. "I made us dinner. Come upstairs. I think you'll like it…" he trailed off, the grin on his face intensifying. "This time it's not…_seafood_."

"You are one 'witty' remark away from getting castrated without anesthesia."

"I look forward to being touched by you again down there," the man said as the towel fell from Law's shoulders. "Please, _do_ use your tongue for this procedure."

"_That's it_!" Law cried out, launching himself at the man who so easily irked him with words of embarrassment. He grabbed the front of the man's suit in one hand while moving his other arm back to prepare for a clean punch to the face. A few teeth knocked clean out of this pervert's mouth would hopefully stop the flow of words rolling off his tongue.

He got in one clean hit, but he was disoriented by both the ricocheting light of the surrounding glass and the fact that he'd almost drowned, so the blow glanced off a cheek rather than a mouth. Unfortunately, the man did not hold still and allow another punch to go unchecked, but rather put a dapper on the next fist aimed at his face.

All motion stopped for five seconds, and then Law found himself belly up on the hard cement floor, flailing about like a fish out of water. The irony was enough to make him howl with rage.

"Calm the hell down!"

Law continued to kick and squirm against his captor who held him pinned with his body. He didn't even know why he bothered; he supposed it was because he refused to lie down and take whatever this man handed to him like a complaisant little bitch.

God, it had been a long night. And now he was light-headed with oxygen loss and not thinking clearly.

Just as he was getting ready to lurch forward and deliver a sound headbutt, the man grabbed both his floundering arms, pinned them above his head, and placed his other hand around his neck. Law gulped in a lung full of air before it was too late, before…

Why was he getting kissed?

He grunted against those insistent lips and tried to turn his head to the side, but the hand on his neck held him in place, not too firmly, but none too gently either. He could breath through his nose, but he was in such a state of shock that he forgot he still had that privilege. He watched the dark spots crawling into his vision like thousands of little bugs marching through instead.

He must have lost himself for a few seconds, because before he knew what was going on, his body was no longer horizontally oriented. It was vertical.

Then he found himself bowed at an uncomfortable angle.

Somehow, getting flung over this man's shoulder felt impossibly familiar to him. He felt as though he'd experienced it before. Then it occurred to him that he probably had. How else would he have ended up on the ugly lizard-print bed?

Now he was going back upstairs. Wonderful. He made sure to exhibit his elation by pounding on the broad, muscular back that was exposed to his feral fists as they climbed the metal steps.

The man couldn't help but notice Law had regained some vigor. "Heart, I–"

"My name is _not_ Heart. That's the stupidest fucking stage name ever. I hate it."

"Then what's your real name?" the man asked, speeding up his steps so he could get to kitchen quicker. He had left things on the stove…

"It's not Heart." He was not about to let the man in on personal information. Dancers that did divulge their real identities set themselves up for a plethora of problems.

"Then what is it?"

"Not Heart."

"Fine, I'll just call you my Black Cat."

"That's the second stupidest name I've ever heard." Yet he could not help but think it went well with his bad luck.

"Then what's your real name?"

"Fuck off."

"Okay, Fuck Off. I'll remember it. Anyways, I made you something to eat," the man continued.

"Something that's probably laced with drugs. Aphrodisiacs and morphine…anything to make taking advantage of me easier."

The man sighed and crested the top of the stairs, turning for the table. Law could only watch those butt cheeks waggle back and forth as he walked with purpose. He contemplated slapping those cheeks to get a rise out of the man, but decided against it. His neck was too damn sore to suffer any more fingers today.

Hell, his whole body burned.

He got a different view only when the man plopped him down in a chair. He leaned back into the soft plush seat and backrest, molding his exhausted body into a relaxed position that probably looked offensive to the eye. Crotch up, feet on the table, shoulders slouched, eyes drooping.

"You have the cutest pout," the man commented as he left his side and meandered past a granite island to pots whistling away on a stove.

Law groaned, loud and low, hoping that if he made himself exceedingly unattractive the man would just dump him before anything could happen. Wishful thinking.

"The cutest moan, too."

"I have no more words to express my revulsion," Trafalgar said. He straightened out only to flop down on the table in front of him, face in his coiled arms. He was free to run, sure, but he was no longer delusional enough to try anything stupid. He was wet and tired, and had not pinpointed the exit yet through his sopping wet bangs. Besides, that lizard-print bed was looking more and more appealing as the night wore on. The only problem was that the man would likely want to share.

And Law was in no mood for sharing.

His nose twitched rapidly upon a sensational smell reaching it and overpowering his senses. The man set something next to his head, and even without taking his face from his hands he knew what lay on the plate. The scent revealed chicken and some sort of vegetable swimming in sauce that had a spicy kick to it.

"Not hungry," he grumbled, even as his stomach threw a childish tantrum.

"I want you to eat."

"That makes me not want to eat even more."

He could hear an exasperated sigh as the man sunk into a chair across from him. "Fine, I'm going to eat anyway."

"Your courtship skills suck."

"Who says I'm courting you? I'm merely offering to give you a little sustenance," said the man, his tone clearly stating how he thought Law's body was in desperate need of nourishment.

"I hate you."

"I love you."

Law raised his eyes to the plate, searching for a knife. Not a one in sight. The meat on his plate had been cooked in chunks and thrown together in a sort of stir-fry with noodles. He wondered how lethal a fork might be. He imagined that sticking it in an eyeball might give him the advantage of clear sight over his opponent.

"I don't know who you are, but you're creeping me the hell out. Which is a feat considering I'm usually the one creeping others out."

"Because I love you?" he asked, raising his fork with a piece of meat on the end and devouring it without really chewing.

"That, and other things." Law blinked, brain coming out of a fog, really registering the words this man spoke with a straight face for the first time. "Wait, you _can't_ love _me_."

"Why not? Loved you from the moment I first saw you dance. Which was about…a month ago, perhaps longer. That was before I realized I could get you to come over for a lap dance." He continued shoveling down his food, unperturbed.

"You don't _love_ me, you fucker. Believe me, I know what game you're playing. You want me to strip naked and slid into bed with you. Well, sorry to burst your arrogant bubble, but not all exotic dancers have low IQs."

"I love you," the man repeated, "and I'm used to getting what I want. And right now I want you. Not for a quick fuck, though that would be nice, but as a companion. Your very presence cheers me up and you have no idea how hard it is to make me happy." The man looked over to Law's untouched plate that was still steaming hot. "Are you going to eat that?"

"_Fuck off_." Law stared at the food, then at the fork his fingers had automatically curled around. Only he was not looking to use it as a weapon any more. No, it was a tool to move food from point A to point B. He used it effectively.

The man appeared to glean some delight from watching him eat like a starving dog, so Law kept his eyes down and focused on his meal, unwilling to see the satisfaction in the man's eyes. He also didn't want to let the man see his expression, did not want him to see that he thought he was eating the best meal of his life. Because that would be a surrender to the enemy.

As a final act of defiance, after he scrapped up every last noodle into his mouth, he threw the fork across the table, straight and true.

The man caught it between his fingers before it struck at some place on his left cheek.

"Good throw," he said with a wolfish grin.

"No, I missed. I was aiming for your eyeball."

"Two inches up, a fingernail's length to the right and you would have had it."

Law mock sighed, wriggling his toes around in the bit of water that was contained within his shoe, and decided to screw the figurative rules revolving around the industry he was a part of.

It felt almost sinful, but he wanted personal information. A name, that was all. He wanted to know who to cuss out. "Who the hell are you?" He did not expect to get an answer, but this man was something of an enigma.

"My name is Eustass Kidd."

Eustass Kidd. Somehow that name seemed familiar. Somehow…

As if guessing the degree of perplexity that his words had wrought, Kidd said, "I'm the owner of Eustass Steelworkers Ltd. Though that's the name we deal in all sorts of metals. Do all of the shit ourselves, from mining to manufacturing and selling. Founded by my dead grandfather and handed over to me by my equally dead father."

"Eustass Steelworkers," Law whispered, his mind racing. Steelworkers. Metals. Mining. Natural resources. Billion dollar corporations? Millionaire in front of him?

He grit his teeth to avoid gaping and resembling a hungry fish. He'd seen enough of those lately. Finally, after he'd recovered a smidgeon of sense, he said carefully, "I guess you own lots of the land and minerals around here."

"More like I own every particle in a one hundred mile radius, and several plots of land the size of small countries outside this city," Eustass Kidd answered offhandedly. Arrogant, but bored to tears with his occupation, almost.

Yes, now that the wheels in his head had been given a bit of oil and something to mull over, he could recall something about Eustass Steelworkers that he'd read in a magazine. Not only did they do their own manufacturing, thus eliminating the cost of a middleman, but they did the selling of their products as well… They had been the corporation that sprung into the top slot in the industry with their revolutionary use of magnetism to draw out the minerals in the earth's crust.

Oh God, he'd really managed to land himself into a mess getting tangled up with a man of his influence. Or had he?

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Law mumbled, broken out of his reverie. "What did you say now? More lovey-dovey lying crap?"

"I asked if you were okay. For a second there it looked like you were going to start hyperventilating. And, unfortunately for you, I've never taken a course on CPR in my life. You'd die in my arms."

Law's eyes wandered over to those arms, taking in the rippling muscle. _It wouldn't be so bad to die in those arms_, he couldn't help but think. Then he mentally gave himself a slap. He had been doing so well ignoring the man's more appealing characteristics! Now was not the time to be done in by this man's intrinsic charm. Things other than appearance nearly did him in already, and he couldn't let himself get completely consumed.

Now was a time for excessive plotting and a revision of Plan Fucking A.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> I realized something. I write…differently when I'm in a fit of depression. Almost like I don't care. Things get sloppy, plot and prose wise. Well. That's interesting. I hope this story doesn't suffer too much because of it...

Anyways, thank you all so much for the reviews. You're all wonderful.


	7. Seventh Sleight

**...**

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Seven – Seventh Sleight_

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><p>"I need to get home," Trafalgar said as Kidd began to clear the dishes off the table.<p>

"It's too late. I don't feel like driving you anywhere."

Law tried to keep his composure. He could not afford to lose himself any more tonight. "Mr. Eustass, I really am too tired to entertain you any more tonight."

"Mr. Heart, I really am too tired to drive you anywhere tonight. Now, why don't you change out of those wet clothes you insist on wearing? There's a robe you can borrow in the bathroom of the floor above."

Law pursed his lips and convinced himself that he would not get angry. Since he'd already tried going down that avenue and it hadn't worked in his favour. Besides, with the revelation that this guy was _Eustass Fucking Kidd_, he thought it would be wise to tread lightly. "Okay," he said, "I call the bed upstairs then. All to myself."

"I don't think so."

"I think so. I need my space." Law slowly got to his feet, and saw that Kidd was doing the same, very tensely.

"A skinny guy like you only needs a _fourth_ of the bed upstairs," Kidd reasoned. "Yet I'm perfectly willing to share _half_."

"Your math is incorrect, Mr. Eustass. See, I _require_ a _whole_."

"You are so much fun," Kidd said, grinning as he followed Law up the stairs. Following him closely awarded him with a fine view of that ass slipping around in those tight wet jeans. He couldn't help himself; he reached out and touched.

"Mr. Eustass, would you kindly remove your hand from my buttocks?"

His words went in one ear and out the other at an alarming rate of speed. By this time the lizard-print sheets were in sight, and Trafalgar stripped off his soggy sweater, fully aware of that gasp muffled by a tongue licking suddenly dry lips. He knew he was still glistening wet.

He stopped at the side of the bed, the hand on his ass still present and warm while his naked upper half caught the chill of the air. He really had no idea why he'd left his sweater on the ground, even if it was soaked and useless. He was just asking to get molested.

As if answering his thoughts, a thick arm encircled his hips and he found his back flush to a very warm, very naked chest. He let out a little hiccup of surprise and twisted his head, seeing pieces of suit hanging off the railing of the stairs. Walking and stripping. A certain someone had lied to him along the way, because those clothes strewn all over the place spelt out _eager_.

His brain worked overtime instructing him on how to take advantage of this.

He wriggled his butt backwards, grinding into the crotch behind. Then he slid his hands back to hook upper thighs and established a rhythm, smirking as the man started to dance with him, wriggling in place as Law ensnared him in his grip.

He felt the gradual increase in pressure, the shape that welled up between the cleft of his ass cheeks, and chuckled. Aha, _perfect_.

He released his hold and walked away, leaving the man breathing a touch heavier than before. His back felt too stiff to be overly flexible tonight. Yet he could imagine Mr. Eustass was a bit stiffer than he.

"What are you doing?" Kidd asked, starting after him. Law retrieved his sweater from the floor and located a suspicious door that he'd previously assumed led into a closet. He could see clearly the bathroom Eustass had mentioned, and that left only this one door for scrutiny.

He had been sleepy enough the first time he was up here to fail to notice the key lock on the door that gave away its true purpose.

"I'm going to hit the elevator now. I'm sure if I screw around enough I'll find a floor with access to the street rather than that stuffy parkade."

"You're just going to leave me here with a hard-on? Just like that?" Kidd asked in disbelief.

"Well, tonight, _was _supposed to be free. I'm not going to exert myself when I know I'm not getting anything in the long haul. It is a business matter, Mister Eustass."

Besides, Law thought, leaving his client with his sexual needs unfulfilled would eventually bring him salivating to his feet. Drooling out money.

Ah, it was a textbook plan, if he ever knew one. Yet it was proven to work. A perfect plan.

Or it would have been a perfect plan had he not been slammed up against the wall with the door he so desired to pass though.

"I don't think I want you to leave just yet," Kidd grunted. That familiar hint of danger that Law had picked up on the first time they'd encountered one another returned. He grit his teeth and coiled his muscles, getting ready to resist.

He was up against a wall and a hard place. A very hard place.

"Your erection is going to bruise my ass. And I have more than enough bruises as it is."

"I wasn't intending to let you leave with _nothing_," the man replied, slipping a hand between Law's bare chest and the wall. "But I will, if you tell me you really don't want this and _mean it_."

_Good grief_, Trafalgar thought, _He's making it easy to earn the money but fucking impossible to get the hell out of here. _

He had to admit though; he was intrigued. The way Kidd's fingers circled up and down his chest, nails lightly scratching at his stomach piqued his curiosity.

"Heart. Earlier you said 'suck my dick.' I haven't been able to get that out of my head all through dinner. If you're willing…"

He let the offer hang in Law's ear, hot breath heating up nearby strands of hair trying to dry out. Fogging up his pair of gold hoops.

Law let his eyes stray to dip in the wall where he knew the door lay. "Get me a robe first. I'm going to catch a chill otherwise."

The man pulled back immediately, letting Law have a deep breath of fresh air. He hadn't been expecting such an easy conquest. "You sure?" he asked.

Oh, so _now_ he was asking cutely. What was with this guy?

Law looked him over, bulging muscles and a tent in his slacks that appeared to be saluting him with the highest honours. He almost let out a laugh at that. This was not to mention Kidd wore the most peculiar expression, one of awe like he was standing in the presence of some deity.

Law just knew he was standing in waterlogged shoes. "The robe. I wish to change. Bring it here."

Kidd nodded mutely and ambled away awkwardly with his hard-on. Law watched him disappear into the bathroom.

This was the opportune moment to bolt. But he couldn't. He froze.

Kidd emerged with a fluffy white robe. "Here, take it."

"Thanks," Law said, snatching up the billowing fabric as best he could. Cashmere. What he wouldn't give to kidnap this robe…

Except it was musky with this man's scent, and a part of him didn't like that.

He tossed the robe on the bed nearby, having already discarded his soaked sweater, and began to pull his jeans off. They were form fitting to begin with, and the water suctioning them to his legs made it a difficult endeavor to remove them. The man just watched, offering no help but not laughing his head off either. He was simply blank.

Law finally managed to get them down to his ankles, and he kicked them up, up, and away with one foot, aiming for Kidd's crotch. Too high, Kidd caught the jeans in his hands as they slammed into his bare chest. This snapped him out of his trance.

He tossed them away and started forward.

"Hold it."

Kidd paused, eyes roving tanned skin. Law had to admit, he was a bit surprised that the same man who's pounced on him was now listening to his commands. Obeying him. He didn't risk a grin. "I want you to watch with a good view."

He could see Kidd's Adam's apple bob as he gulped, eyes focusing in on Law's hands. He began to rub himself, really intent on warming his freezing skin, and played with the elastic on his wet boxers. They clung stiffly to him, and if they hadn't been black, Law figured he might as well have been naked already.

He found himself getting turned on with the intensity of the man's gaze. "You like what you see?"

"I'd like it even better if I could see you without those on…"

Law snickered and reached behind his back to sort out the mess that was the robe. When his fingers touched the soft fabric again he frowned. He was far too grimy to deserve wrapping this around his body.

He glanced at the bathroom where it had come from. An idea sparked in his mind. Why not take advantage of the commodities of his host while he could? "You have a bath, right? I want a bath."

Eustass grinned, pearly whites beaming like separate smiles. "Luckily the bath fits more than one."

"I imagined it would," Law acknowledged gravely.

He was more than prepared for that. At Bepo's apartment at the moment, there wasn't a drop of hot water if one happened to be the last to the shower. Not only was it challenging to wash dishes on this constraint, but morning showers were either nonexistent for some or like jumping into hail on a bad day. Freezing rain on a good day. Very unpleasant.

So the opportunity, the _pros_ to having a hot bath prevailed over the cons of having a horny man sitting next to him, likely unable to keep his hands off. He could deal with the latter. Besides, so long as there were no more fingers around his throat, he could deal with most anything the man wanted to do with his body.

Unless he wanted to fuck, in which case Law would put his foot down. Hard. Into the man's crotch.

He hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

Law lazed back on the bed while Kidd went to draw a bath. His redheaded host didn't return for several minutes, giving him some peace in which he nearly dozed off lying on the silken sheets, and when he finally did appear again he was wearing considerably less clothing.

The sight made Law chuckle a little, the giddy bunch of butterflies that would not be tamed rising up in his stomach. "Wow. Full frontal."

"It's not like you haven't seen me yet," Kidd replied. Law could see, very plainly, that his erection was still pointing strong in his general direction.

"Hmm, true. But you forget that it was dark."

"And whose idea was that?" Kidd asked, turning sideways to rummage through a nearby dresser. The profile was even more magnificent, and Law felt the innate need to remark upon that athletic bubble butt.

"Nice ass."

"You like?"

"Hmm, it's _almost_ as cute as Ace's," he said jokily, without really thinking. As soon as the name rolled off his tongue, two things happened. He grimaced at his stupidity, and Kidd's entire form darkened a shade.

"Who's Ace?" he asked crudely.

"He's no one you should be concerned about."

The man appeared to want to press the matter, but Law was up on his feet and across the room. He entered the bathroom for the first time and let out a breathy, nervous laugh. Except for the public washrooms of a megastore like Wal-Mart, he hadn't thought he'd ever set foot in a bathroom the size of Bepo's flat.

He could see Eustass' tub was really more of a Jacuzzi huddled into a corner with a wide marble rim around the edge. The tiles were a pristine white, and surprisingly the walls had been painted a soothing pale yellow. He supposed it was intended to elicit feelings of happiness, and hell he damn well felt happy looking at that beautiful tub from which steam rose languidly, twisting up towards the ceiling.

_Hot bath_. He gushed a little inside.

Just a little.

Then he thoughts turned dark. He had to _share_. With _him_.

Damn.

Just as he stopped before the Jacuzzi, marveling at how fast the tub was filling, fingers began to lightly dance along his spine and down towards his buttocks.

"May I?"

They were coming off eventually, anyway. Besides, Thatch had on more than one occasion literally ripped undergarments off his butt before. Or angrily cut them off with a pair of scissors and tossed them in the trash. But that was his House Mam, who did that to everyone if their panties or whatever weren't up to snuff for the night ahead. Thatch had no interest in him, in any of the dancers really, and he hardly counted.

Still, he wasn't at all afraid of exposing himself to one insistent Eustass Kidd: Billionaire, Chef, and Prick. Well, World's Biggest Asshole, anyway.

"Go ahead. I want to get in."

He expected rough fingers tearing the fabric clean off. The fingers that slowly eased themselves beneath the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs were anything but brutal. Hooking his thumbs and flattening his palms against Trafalgar's thighs, Kidd brought them to the floor, kneeling down on one knee.

Law then expected to be fondled, but when that didn't happen within seconds, he became afraid to look behind him. He swore he could feel breath on his inner thigh. Perhaps that was only his imagination. It was an overactive thing, that brain of his.

He couldn't bear to look back, so he kept moving forward. The water beckoned, and he obeyed. Only when he was seated in the Jacuzzi, mouth parted in a silent moan of delight, did he look back to see Kidd straightening with a blank, yet entirely too intense expression. It unnerved him.

He watched him get in the tub with half-lidded eyes, focusing on what swung so easily between his legs and disappeared smoothly into the water. Okay. This was fine. Nothing bad had happened.

Then Kidd attacked his exposed neck. With his lips.

He retaliated with a palm to the man's forehead. The wet _whack _resounded in the small space. "You know, I was really hoping to relax in here."

"Then relax. Pretend I'm not here." Law let loose a hoot of disbelief. "Ignore me, I mean. I don't expect you to touch me back."

"Well, _that's_ good," snapped Law.

Anyone else would frown. Eustass Kidd simply smiled and leaned in across the water again, flipping a knob with his fingers as he went. The jets in the tub roared to life, Law jumped a bit, and Kidd took what he wanted under the guise of surprise.

He kissed those pink lips of Law's with vigour, forcing more ruby colour into them. Law tried to lean back and get away, he really did, but the man had a solid grip on the back of his head. His other hand had gone south.

But not _too _south. Just down to his navel. And up again. Sliding slickly along his body and feeling his ribs up as he gasped for air through his nostrils and only found watery steam.

Then those lips fled down to his neck, and everything else went further downward. That roaming hand played with the dark stubble below his belly button, scratching him and twisting a finger around some of the longer hairs.

He let his head fall back on the marble edge of the tub the second Kidd removed his other hand to touch his cheek, lingering over the tiny indent between his ear and jaw. His pride willed him to ignore this treatment. He could bear it. To force some relaxation into himself, Law let his eyes fall closed against the pale yellow ceiling that held condensation droplets.

One moment he was up to his shoulders in hot water, the next he was against a tile wall, sitting on lukewarm marble. Hands under his butt were to blame.

"What the hell do you think you're do–" He cut himself off with a gasp as those hands moved front and center. "_Oh, shit…_"

"Have to make sure I'm better at giving head than that Ace with the cute butt. Don't want any competition."

"Okay, hold on, idiot," Law growled, looking into the amused eyes of his assaulter as he thought of the least damaging way to explain who Ace was. Then he realized the mistake of his words. "Actually, don't _hold on_ to my dick. _Let go_."

In response, Kidd gripped tighter, making Law hiss and grab for red locks of hair. Lips descended despite Law trying to pull the man back up, and he found his toes curling as Kidd made the first contact.

Wet and just as hot, if not hotter, than the water his feet hung in still. Against his better judgment, Law let out a breathy groan. Encouragement where it was hardly needed. He couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to go down on him. Well, Kidd had hardly offered. More like he took what he wanted. That irked him.

However, feeling himself sliding in and out of this man's mouth, that annoyance simply subsided. No, more like it was picked up like a screaming child and thrown into a locked room.

He went from soft to painfully erect embarrassingly quickly, and by that point he could hardly stomp a foot in this man's face. He was incapacitated. Placated by a pointed tongue that curved and writhed along his veins, pushing against them, tracing them to commit to memory.

He limply put his hands on the scrub of hair in front of him, water droplets running down onto Kidd's scalp. In addition to being unable to move because of Kidd's horny desires, his ass was suctioned to the marble. It was funny how he could stand to ignore than uncomfortable sensation when a different sort of suction started up.

"Oh_. Oh, fuck._"

Kidd pulled back slightly, licking a bit of stray saliva from the corners of his dark lips. Law was more than sufficiently wet for him to pump, and he did, but didn't give him the benefit of having his entire length stroked. Just the base. He'd take special care of all those nerve endings on the head.

He kept watch on those flush cheeks, closed eyes, and slightly parted lips as he went down again. With his one free hand he began to tease himself under the water, fondle his balls and squeeze his shaft while he pleased the stripper he'd brought home. The erotic fantasy playing out before his eyes, his lithe little dark-haired beauty grunting and squirming in his grasp, had him in ecstasy. He could have given himself the worst handjob possible and still had the orgasm of his life in the presence of this man.

He groaned, mouth full, and felt a shudder rip through the body splayed on the marble. He picked up his pace, getting the cock in his mouth harder and harder, wanting him to explode. Because he was his. _His_. No one else could ever have him, and that would begin with this first step towards claiming him.

He increased the intensity of his affections and found thin legs hooking over his shoulders, heels digging into his back. Legs that trembled, thighs that twitched, and toenails that hooked into his skin proceeded Law's orgasm.

A moan of pained pleasure tore out of Law's larynx as he loosed himself without warning, spasming on Kidd's tongue. Some of his release bypassed tastebuds and went straight down his throat, but the great majority he managed to mesh with his saliva, forming a satisfyingly sweet froth.

Kidd couldn't help but grin as he swallowed the rest. He tasted just like his cooking, with an extra dash of salt.

Delicious.

Law barely registered that his body was being pulled off the marble and back into the pool. It was not until he found himself sitting sideways in the lap of the man who's just sucked him off, a very prominent, meaty organ slipping up between his legs, between his very _balls_, that he cut through the haze of his mind. He willingly reclined into that broad chest, aware that the hips he was seated upon were subtly moving against his skin. Rubbing.

When he regained his breath, he questioned the movement. "You're getting off on by having me sit on you?"

"Yes I am." No shame there.

He meditated on what he'd just let happen. What was still happening. His head was a fuzzy place, but very clearly he knew he had passed a sharp corner on the metaphorical road. A milestone. A no turning back point.

He had let someone do something personal for him.

The other way around hardly mattered. Dancers sold 'favours' all the time. Ace was notorious for pursuing those he found attractive, luring them to some back alley for a quickie of sorts. That was how it had come to pass that Officer Smoker was one of the Pink Flamingo's best patrons.

Law wasn't really as free as that. He didn't worry as Izou did about contracting things; he just didn't like that feeling of having wasted his time on someone he'd never see again. Blowjobs, to him, were very personal courtesies. There were strict criteria the receiver had to meet. That night in the Ferrari, Eustass Kidd had met them, more or less.

The other way around was even more sacred. Anyone who wanted to touch him there was…_well_.

He didn't know what to make of it. Was he some trophy to be won, some conquest that ended after tonight, or did this man genuinely wish to keep him around longer? He hoped the latter but his gut told him the former, and his gut was rarely wrong. He decided he would have to ask. Later.

Arms tightened around him, clutching him closer as the man grunted once and came, breathing deeply. He kissed Law's lips, and Law, for once, kissed back. He could taste something vaguely familiar when tongues came into play, and blushed with no help from the hot water as he realized he tasted himself. Right.

The warmth surrounding him and the air bubbles brushing against his body made him sleepy. It had really been a long night. He hardly protested to being manhandled out of the tub and toweled dry. He didn't say anything, and luckily Kidd, too, kept his mouth shut. No arguments. No scathing words. Just a gentle, fluffy towel and an equally fluffy robe. After that, a pair of Kidd's silk boxers that were a few sizes too big for him.

Then bed.

* * *

><p>Law woke up to revisions for Plan Fucking A. It needed a new premise, and with that he renamed it Plan Fucking B before he modified the bones of his plot.<p>

Then he rolled over onto his back and his arm hit the bulky form of his bedfellow. Slowly he withdrew, hoping the hit was not enough to wake up the great Eustass Kidd, who slept without a sound.

The man didn't stir. Eventually Law slipped from the lizard-print sheets and tiptoed his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He checked his bruises in the mirror. The one above his left eye seemed better today, purple subsiding, but it was turning slightly yellow. He snorted; it kind of matched the bathroom.

While he was examining his face, he noticed the heart Thatch had drawn on him was still there, albeit somewhat smudged. He looked elsewhere.

His wrists that had suffered extreme rope burn were redder than yesterday, healthier looking actually. He rubbed them, trying to encourage blood flow as he left the bathroom and began to creep around. He wasn't about to slip back into bed. He'd gotten lucky last night as it was. Kidd hadn't pushed further. But now it was a new day, and a new day meant new adventures. Law wasn't sure he was ready for those.

He remembered Kidd's words whispered into his neck as he dozed off. Insisting that he pay him, despite Law calling it a free night hours ago in the Camaro. Law remembered mumbling incoherently back, that he would most certainly take the money after all the bastard had put him through, and thought now that his opinion had hardly changed.

So he sought out a leather wallet.

He had a good idea of where it lay. When the clothes had started coming off last night he remembered seeing scraps of clothing on the railing of the stairwell. Sure enough he found the suit jacket. Right pocket, no, left pocket he found his object. Perfect. Easy.

He cracked open the leather with a smile, seating himself on the hardwood floor. He'd thrown the fluffy white robe on again, and he was more than comfortable. Rather than hurry to the wad of cash he could see poking out of a compartment, he went through the rest of the wallet, hoping to find something of interest. Anything, really, so long as they were private things. He just felt overly invasive this morning.

He pulled a credit card, flicked at the plastic with his nails, then stuck it back in its proper place. Next he found a business card nestled between two receipts. So. The information he'd given him was correct. His name was indeed Eustass Kidd, Eustass _W._ Kidd in fact, and he was a resident millionaire. Very good.

He flattened the crumpled receipts. One was for lunch at some local eatery he hadn't heard of. Likely an expensive fix. He peered at the tab near the bottom and confirmed it. Yep. The other piece of paper was for groceries. Boring. But at least he knew Eustass Kidd was not so high and mighty as to hire a maid to do his shopping for him.

He rummaged about, peering at the business cards of others haphazardly stuffed away. One business card in particular caught his eye, but it was a graphic with no names attached to it. Just a picture of a stylized reptile of sorts. It just seemed awfully familiar, yet he knew he'd never seen it before.

It gave him a shiver, and he crammed it back in the wallet, not caring where it ended up since there really wasn't any organization in this wallet anyway. It kind of irritated him. Still, there weren't as many things in the wallet as he'd thought there would be. He'd thought for sure millionaires would have many important things in there. Sadly it looked like Bepo's wallet on a good day, not covered in grim from laying down asphalt. Except, of course, for that bulge near the back.

He opened it at last, taking a gander. Damn, did he ever feel like a thief grabbing every grubby bill in his equally grubby stripper hands with a grin on his face.

Then he realized he had no choice but to grab every bill. They'd been stuck together with a large metal paperclip. With a tiny piece of paper attached. On which a heart had been drawn. Upside down.

Law frowned, looked towards the bed where there was a large form breathing serenely under a blanket, and his frown deepened. He crumpled the wad of money into his hand without counting it. Clearly it was meant for him.

So, his payment had already been predetermined. There hadn't ever been the notion of a 'free night' in Eustass Kidd's mind.

He got to his feet and searched for his clothes. Once gathered, he discerned that they were still damp in places where the fabric had folded in on itself, but wearable. So long as it wasn't a frosty morning, he would be just fine.

He pocketed the money in the front of his sweater and started for the door. Upon reaching it he cast one final look over his shoulder at the sleeping bulge on the bed, shrouded in morning light. If he had a pen and a piece of paper he'd leave a teasing note. He had the paper, just not the pen. Nor did he think he had much time to waste searching for one.

He grabbed hold of the doorknob, and just began to turn it when a clear chime resonated throughout the apartment. He froze. Had that been his doing?

The chime sounded again, and he realized he was hearing a doorbell. He whipped around and stared at his sleeping host. No movement. Not yet.

A third chime made him flinch as if slugged in the face.

He glanced back. Still sleeping. But for how long?

He swiftly flicked the lock on the door and opened it to the person ringing the bell, whom he assumed would be on the other side.

A faceless being reared back, and before Law knew what was going on, there was the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead and fingers tightening around his neck.

Why was it always his goddamn neck?

In the milliseconds of realizing he was under attack, Law's brain dredged up an old dance routine he'd done with Ace. The theme that night had been martial arts.

He arced backwards, arms outstretched to catch himself before he hit the floor, and brought up a leg that would have normally wrapped around a pole. The person's clutch was no where near strong enough to hold his body under the influence of gravity, and the second his fingertips touched the floor and his hair stopped mere inches from collision, he kicked upwards. A solid hit to the person's neck and jaw. They keeled backwards.

Adrenaline pumping, Law went straight for the gun, flipping back to a vertical position with the completion of his move only to dive forward at the person writhing on the ground, holding their neck covered with a black and white dotted bandana.

He flattened out on the person's body and used both of his arms to slam the hand that held the black semi-automatic to the floor. The person under him kicked uselessly and thrash as he wrangled the gun from his fingers. Once it was in his possession, he tried to get up, only to find legs sweeping his feet out from under him. In desperation and quickly falling to his knees, he chucked the gun across the room, hearing a metallic _thwack _as it hit the ground hard.

Frankly, he would rather the gun be out of the way.

A fist connected with his left side and he went flying to the right, landing in a sprawl of limbs. They seemed to exchange a sort of pensive stare, Law and this unknown person, and then both glanced to where the semi-auto was lying useless on the floor a dozen paces away. Then back at one another, silently challenging.

Law sprang to his feet just after the other person began to move, breaking into a run. He heard footsteps just behind him as he stopped low for the black beast of death, felt haggard panting almost on his heels. Yet even if he wasn't faster than this person, he had been closer thanks to that punch that had sent him sailing in the right direction.

He scooped the semi-auto up, turned, pointed, and all motion stopped. Law knew then that the safety was off. If he pulled the trigger to fire it, he would kill this man at point blank.

"I know how to fire a gun," Law bluffed, taking in the appearance of the person in front of him. They stood there rigidly, completely at his mercy. Whoever they were, they had a helluva lot of blond hair cascading down their back. Chunky black sunglasses obscured the upper half of their face along with messy blond bangs, and that dotted bandana obscured the lower half. He couldn't see more than a tiny patch of skin just above the glasses that showed eyebrows knitted together.

He let loose the breath he had been holding in his lungs while he waited for an answer. An explanation, begging even. He didn't know what to expect. Not silence. Yet silence was all he received.

Until the silence was broken by a loud, "_What the goddamn hell?_"

He didn't move his arm pointing the gun at the chest of the sexless individual, but he turned his head fully to the side to see Kidd climbing out of bed with an angry expression on his face.

It was enough of a mistake to get him another bruise.

Fingers clamped down on his outstretched forearm and, before he could yank himself away, an elbow smashed into the side of his face. In the same damn spot Marco had slugged him days before.

He clenched every muscle in his body as he slumped backwards. Including the finger wrapped around the trigger of the semi-auto. Dimly he was aware the person had bent his arm at an angle, unintentionally directing the barrel towards a certain Eustass Kidd.

The gun discharged a shot.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: <strong>I am a cruel, cruel person for ending it there. But I think that Kidd/Law scene is somewhat redeeming? I don't know. I reread it and all that went through my mind was 'this is a dirty, dirty chapter with lots of ridiculous humour. Most of it dirty as well. Oh well, let's post it.'

And thus, now you all know what goes through my mind before I post things.


	8. Eighth Elocution

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Eight – Eighth Elocution_

* * *

><p>The bullet missed. Terribly.<p>

It embedded itself in the wall behind Kidd, making a colossal dent in the wood. Red paint crumbled away as dust.

The gun was wretched from his hand immediately. Then he was tackled to the ground. If it weren't for the white-hot pain in his spine he would laugh at the absurdity of being ploughed into by a person in cowboy garb.

"Enough! Killer!"

Law thrashed even as the person on top of him made to get up. He succeeded in knocking into the left shin of those blue Native American pants with his foot, causing tassels to sway as the man went down again, this time landing beside Law.

Both rolled away from the other, panting. The gun was now back in the other's hand, and Law shrunk in on himself, trying to make himself a harder target.

"Killer, that's my object of affection you're aiming at."

Law stared down the gun, not willing to take his eyes off of it. It gleamed dangerously in the morning light. The blood his heart was frantically pumping around his body seemed to be coming out his ears. He strained to hear Eustass.

"He spent the night with me," Kidd continued. "I would _really _appreciate it if you wouldn't put holes in him."

What really struck Law was the utter _casualty _of Kidd's tone, not what he was saying. Here they were, in his bedroom, with a masked person and their gun, and _Eustass Fucking Kidd_ was pretty much scolding this individual.

"You should have told me," said the person, rather snappishly. Law still couldn't tell whether he was looking at a man or a woman. He had a hunch that it was a man, but the buttons on their shirt were done up all the way and the hair flowing down to the person's thighs looked downright _pampered_.

The voice didn't allude to either sex. It was barely audible to his ears. However, that was perhaps because he was breathing hard and blocking out most other noise, focusing on himself.

His eyes watched the individual with the gun, even though it was being put away in a holster somewhere under the loose fabric of his shirt. Then they walked over to Kidd, who stood there a mere few feet from his bed, red hair disheveled and boxers twisted slightly around prominent hips. They exchanged a few angry words. Law couldn't hear, no matter how he strained himself on the other side of the room.

God, what an awful start to the day. He squeezed his eyes to combat the pain welling up on his left temple. First Marco and now this random crazy person? He really had shit luck.

Kidd suddenly appeared in front of him, pale skin materializing out of nowhere. "Heart? Fuck. _Are you alright_?"

"I've only been hit by a fucking train. No need to be concerned," Law muttered, holding his head and taking a gander at the hardwood floor. He looked up again to see his scenery had changed. He was staring straight into the bandana of the train that ran him over.

He opened his mouth for profanities when a hand was placed over his, the one that was clutching his freshly reformed bruise. He didn't have a chance to speak. The person beat him to the punch.

"My apologies, Heart. I had no idea you were the one Kidd was obsessing over," the person said. A tenor voice. Could be either male or female.

"I am not _obsessing_," Eustass Kidd growled.

Law looked up to see lips pulled back into a snarl. Kidd was irritated.

"He is, he just won't admit it yet," the person whispered just loud enough for only Law's ears to hear. He raised his voice to declare, "Again, I apologize for causing you any injuries."

Of all the things Law could have said, what came out of his mouth surprised everyone, including himself.

"I have to get to work. I think I'm going to be late."

Blank stares all around. Well, he _imagined_ sunglasses-person was giving him a blank look. He couldn't tell.

Suddenly, Kidd was laughing. "Fine, fine. But I have to pay you…I know you said you–"

This was getting more and more awkward. He interrupted before this could get out of hand. "I took the money out of your wallet already."

God, he hoped Kidd wouldn't command the masked one among them to put a bullet in his head. Luckily, Kidd merely snickered and waved it off.

"Good. Well. Killer, make sure he gets out of the building okay. Take him straight to the street. Avoid B-1."

"Sure thing, captain." A tiny snicker, just barely audible.

Killer? A freaking unisex name. Yet…

"I thought your shark's name was Killer?" he asked Kidd accusingly. He was just waiting to jump on a lie…any falsehood would do.

"He decided to name his favourite pet after me," the individual informed Law, getting to their feet and briskly returning to the open door, where beyond an elevator door beckoned. "At the time I was unsure if I should be flattered or offended."

"I'd be offended," Law replied with a slight smile. Then he paused and pursed his lips. What? Was he seriously attempting to make friendly conversation with the man that had elbowed him in the face, pointed a gun at him, and generally tried to kill him?

Yes, yes he was.

Kidd helped him to his feet. Somehow, after a few words from some stranger, he found himself in an amiable mood. Amiable enough to allow Eustass to help him to his feet, anyway.

And certainly amiable enough to accept a kiss on the cheek without much fuss.

"Put some ice on that, Heart," Kidd told him, fingering his bruised temple with the lightest of touches. Fresh pain made him wince.

"Fuck off."

"Love you too," Kidd replied, hands falling from Law's body as he withdrew, a playful spark in his eye. He headed for the bathroom, seemingly forcing himself away to keep up some kind of 'appearance'. After he disappeared behind the door Law tensed, finding himself alone with the stranger. A stranger who beckoned to him.

"You coming?"

Law blinked. Hell fucking yes he was coming, if that meant he'd be leaving this crazy place.

Not a minute passed before he found himself in an elevator with a person and their hidden gun. Surprisingly, he wasn't all that worried. They kept to opposite sides of the tiny room, and the numbered buttons that indicated how many floors were accessible were on the side of the man who obviously knew the building. He pressed floor two before stepping back and leaning against a railing.

Fifty floors. A slow moving elevator. With glass walls.

He watched the city outside fly by in glimpses as they moved between floors. There'd be a shaft of light, then a few moments of darkness courtesy of concrete, then the city again.

God, was it ever stunning to see the sun from so high up above the squalor.

"That's one hell of a view," Law said, unable to contain himself as he was awarded yet another glimpse.

"I know, I'm jealous. My apartment's ground level."

"Me too. Sucks," Law replied.

Once again he found himself reevaluating his sanity. Speaking to this person was certainly not what he envisioned himself doing the moment he opened Kidd's door to find the barrel of a semi-automatic pointed at his forehead. Yet, he was alive and well. Better than well actually. Well off. The money in his pocket was swaying his feelings. Making him bold.

There was but one question that was nagging his consciousness. He decided to approach it in a way that would guarantee him an answer.

"So, uh, are you a woman or a man?"

He was not immediately answered.

Unabashed, Law continued, "Because you never can fully tell sometimes. I mean honestly, _I_ could be a woman for all you know. With speed titties."

The masked man slowly turned to face him. The eyebrows that had sat just above the rim of his sunglasses were nowhere in sight. Law guessed they had escaped to some vacation resort farther up his forehead.

"_What_?"

"Speed titties," Law repeated with the faintest of grins. To get someone talking, using profanity often yielded fantastic results. He had learned this from Ace. "Or maybe the phrase was speed torpedos? Either way, like little nippers, you know? As opposed to voluptuous tatas. Bazookas. Melons, mangos, mammaroonies…"

Sometimes, words just cycled around in his head and spilled out of his mouth, quite by accident. He blamed it on an unhealthy interest in a thesaurus he found when he was a kid.

The person was suddenly laughing and keeling over next to him, grabbing on to the elevator railing that ran the circumference of the glass box to keep from falling over. The loud, _much_ deeper laugh convinced Law that this individual was, indeed, male. He had his suspicions based on body structure, but it was good to hear some laughter to add to his theory.

"My dear friend has many names for women's breasts," Law explained when those shades turned on him. "If I were a women, I'd _probably_ call my tits pontoons, just because they would sound like particularly lethal weapons. For you, I'd choose blouse bunnies. I like your shirt, by the way. It's very _bold_."

They reached the second floor of the building before the man beside him caught his breath long enough to state, "I'm a _man_."

"I suspected as much. If you were a gal you probably would have either laughed harder or slugged me again."

"I _am _truly sorry for that."

Law was drunk on money. Absolutely drunk. Or his brains had been scrambled by that elbow to the face. Because it was just occurring to him that he ought to have asked a more lucrative question. Something like: "Hey, so why did you point that gun at my head when I opened the door?"

"I can't tell you," Killer confessed, sounding almost sad beneath his bandana. They stepped out of the elevator and into a hallway. It had but one door at its end, and through a barred window Law could see cars racing by. "It's very complicated. Think of me as just a…_security_ guy."

"I see. Well. I suppose if I were a millionaire I'd hire a 'security guy' too. I'd probably hire my friend Bepo. He's a big bearish guy, perfect for the job."

"He sounds like a good fit. But hey, just so you know… I was serious when I said Kidd's _obsessed_ with you. Look, I don't really know who you are, but don't get too caught up in his affairs. You'll regret it."

"Sure." He shrugged his shoulders. His head hurt too much for him to give a proper damn.

"Well, I have to go back upstairs. That door takes you right out to the street, but you can only go through it from this side. It's locked otherwise. Be seeing you."

"Bye," Law said, departing.

He didn't care any more. Any and all absurdity was welcome so long as he got to keep his hard earned dough.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Law found himself standing in Galdino's Grocery, holding several packages of chicken breasts while Ace stood on cardboard boxes assembled as a makeshift stage.<p>

"When I wag my tail feathers, I bring all the old birds to the yard! And they're like, it's better than yours. Damn right, I feed them my chickenfeed 'til they see stars!" Ace sang, wagging his rear end in the general direction of the crowd of middle-aged women. Most laughed, some downright howled, and many started shaking their own booties to his off-key singing.

"The only old bird you bring to your chicken coup is Marco," Law shouted, but Ace didn't seem to hear him. He continued slaughtering Kelis' _Milkshake_ with his own improvised, food related lyrics. Boy, some days Gladino chose the _wrong_ radio station to broadcast over the store's speakers.

"And someone buy me fried chicken, because I'm hungry!" Ace finished to the last thump of the bass. Despite completely demolishing the song, several smiling women were already sifting through their purses. Ace took one of the smaller cardboard boxes and collected tips with a charming grin.

For once, Law wasn't at all jealous at the willingness of people to fork over their hard earned cash to Ace. His friend was delightfully pathetic.

He continued trying to put away chicken packages. Galdino himself was working the _only _till in the store today. Occasionally he did that out of pure boredom. Law couldn't say he minded the temporary respite from his duties. He had a lot on his mind.

And a lot more in his pocket.

He hadn't had time to race to Bepo's and change. Instead he'd headed straight to his day job, barely making it there on time for the beginning of his shift.

Today was, ironically, the day he and the two other employees of the surly Mr. 3 got their paychecks. It was nearing four-thirty, and the shop was closing soon. Ace had been given instructions by Galdino himself to try and sell the remaining chicken. They'd be getting a new, freasher shipment tomorrow, apparently.

Thus, the chicken dance.

The packages in Law's hands disappeared as women grabbed them from him. Soon, they were all gone. Finished with their suave work to sell quantity over quality, Ace and Law went toward the front of the store and lounged next to the till.

"Hey Galdinosaur! Did you see that? Sold all the chicken for you. Don't you think that constitutes a raise?"

Galdino punched in a code for a bunch of bananas, bagged them, and then glared at Ace. "Don't liken me to a dinosaur, Ace. I'm not _that _tyrannical."

"Can I get a raise?"

"No." The man wrinkled his brow as he picked up a package of tampons. Law just knew he was tempted to throw them at Ace's head. But there was a line of last-minute stragglers waiting to pay. He placed the item in a bag and finished the order. Got the money. Abandoned post. "Law, take over the till. Get these lovely ladies through so we can close up shop."

Law was just content to finally have something to do with his hands. Every other moment when they were without a job they'd reach into his sweater pockets and fondle the wad of cash sitting there. He was paranoid that the money would fall out. So much so that he'd found a safety pin and clipped it to the paperclip, then to the inside fabric of his sweater. Yet he still continuously checked it. Just to make sure.

He rang the last few shoppers through in record time and soon the store was devoid of customers. Ace was rolling the steel link curtain that would protect their store from thefts in the night. After all, Mr. 3's measly little store was located in a seedy mall with a couple of other little trinket shops. Anyone could visit.

Galdino signed Tsura's paycheck. She was the one who repackaged the meat in the back room before it was put on shelves. Law rarely saw her. But every time she walked past she would glare at him. This time was no different. She was the first to leave.

"Here, Ace," Mr. 3 said, handing him a slip of paper. "I actually did give you a bit more money. Be grateful for every extra penny, you moron."

"Aw, _thank you_ Galdinosaurus Rex!" Ace gushed, enveloping his boss in a manly hug. The poor older geezer looked positively pained. "I love you, man!"

"Go home, Ace."

"Harsh," Ace quipped, disentangling himself. "Well, see ya later Lawsie, Galdinosaurus Tex-Mex Rex."

"I'm _not_ Texan or Mexican, you moron! And I said to quit likening me to a dinosaur! What, do you have wax in your ears or something?"

"Bye, Ace. See you tonight," Law called as his friend darted over a pileup of shopping carts and headed for the exit. Waving like a lunatic, which had some basis in the truth of Ace's condition.

"Here, take your paper," Galdino growled, shoving a cheque in Law's direction. He took a glance down at it and let his eyebrows sail high.

"It's, uh…"

"You look like shit," Galdino stated, gesturing to Law's entire body; the rumpled clothes, the bruises, the untied sneakers. "I don't know what the hell you do in your off-time, and I don't really fucking want to know, but take the extra money and get something to eat. Maybe some Band-Aids. You're skinny and beat up as hell."

"Thanks, Mr. Wax. I really do appreciate it," Law said, pocketing the cheque before his conscience opened his mouth and told Galdino to take back the extra. Whatever. He'd done his job. If the man wanted to pay him more, he'd let him.

"I hope things start looking up for you. I know it's been _years_, and you've obviously grown up since then, but I don't think you've changed too much. People still seem to be picking on you."

Trafalgar drew in a shaky breath. Their shared past was rarely ever mentioned. In fact, for the longest time after he'd been hired, he'd thought Galdino didn't even recognize him. He'd been a kid back then…

"So you do care. Well, I love you too, Monsieur Waxy. You were one of the better guys, if memory serves me right."

"Don't kiss my ass," was all Galdino said as he pushed Law from his store and finished the last minute duties belonging to the owner.

Law took off without needing to be told twice, his mind bizarrely blank until he was standing in Bepo's kitchen, getting hugged to death by huge arms around his midsection.

Bepo picked him up off the ground as he hugged him, and Trafalgar wiggled his toes, waiting for the big man to put him down. Finally, it happened, and his butt was placed on the counter. If only so he could see eye to eye with his friend.

"Law! Where have you been? I thought you'd _died_!"

"Naw, Mr. Death doesn't want lil' ol' me. Now, grab a phone and the phonebook. And my goddamn hat. I'm calling someone to fix the heater in this place."

Bepo blinked at him, mouth wide open. "Oh my God, what happened to your _face_?"

It occurred to Law that Bepo had not seen his face after he'd been punched by Marco and certainly not after he'd been socked by Killer. "Forget my face. I got an elbow or two there. Stuff happens. Now, get me the book and a phone. I actually have money to pay for this kind of shit…"

Bepo continued to stare at him.

"I know I look bad. You don't have to keep staring at me to make a point out of it."

"No, no, it's not that," Bepo said, moving down the kitchen so he sat at the rickety table in an equally rickety chair. "It's just…we kind of don't have a phone any more and I think Shachi said he either used the phonebook as toilet paper or stuffed it around that leaking pipe behind the sink."

"Well, fuck. I'm gone for one fucking day and night and – did you say we don't have a phone? The phone company _actually _disconnected us? Fuck, I thought they were bluffing…"

Bepo disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged with a soggy bunch of paper. It was dumped on the counter. "We're in luck; he used the phonebook to stop the leak."

Law gingerly flipped through the sections. Some were missing, and many disintegrated upon even his most delicate touch, but he found the handyman section near the back, where the text and paper wasn't quite as degraded. "You have two quarters for a payphone? I'm going to run down the road and call someone up."

Bepo managed to scrounge up two quarters from a pair of Penguin's overalls and Law took the soggy section he needed with him down to the street corner. He made his call count and phoned up a guy Penguin knew and could vouch for.

When Franky arrived a few hours later, he took one look at their heater and said it would need a "Super repair." The guy bent over in his spandex bottoms and got to work. Despite the lack of clothing on his bottom half, he wasn't showing any signs of freezing. The man was a freaking machine. He finished the heater off in no time and flew through repairs on the sink's pipes.

Law paid him in cash, and Bepo just started at the wad in Law's hands as Franky dashed out the door.

"Here, I have rent and I have food money," Law said, further splitting the pile. "And now I have phone money too, I guess." His pile shrunk even more.

"Hey, hey, keep some of that for yourself," Bepo whined. "Who the hell needs a phone?"

"Uh, _you_. You need a phone," Law grumbled.

"I have e-mail still. On Shachi's laptop."

"That thing's practically dead. We're getting our phone connection back, thanks." Law pocketed what remained of Eustass fucking Kidd's money and retreated to the bathroom. "I have to take a shower and get ready for tonight. Order pizza or something," he called.

Before he got into the sputtering, cold shower he located a tile behind the toilet that was particularly loose. Hell, most of the grout between the tiles had been worn away, so _all _of them were loose and cracked. But only one tile came out.

Recently, he'd put a small, black box where he kept his med school stash under that tile, in a hollow he'd picked away at between some rotted floorboards. He stuck his money in the box with the other neatly folded bills and closed it up securely.

His paranoia melted away as he stood under the showerhead.

* * *

><p>He cashed Galdino's check before he caught the bus downtown. Before leaving the bank he'd calculated out the slimmest amount that he'd need to fork over to Doflamingo to keep suspicion off of him, and stashed the rest in his shoe.<p>

When he arrived he bypassed Thatch in favour of getting the most disgusting part of the evening out of the way.

He knocked on Doflamingo's office door.

"Come in."

Law entered, taking in the new surroundings. Tonight it was Hollywood's red carpet, and the walls had been painted black with yellow camera flashes on them to suggest a frenzied paparazzi. He walked the red carpet up to Doflamingo's desk.

"Well, well, if it isn't The Runaway. Mr. Trafalgar, sit your ass down."

Law sat on the leather chair, the only thing besides Doflamingo's desk that rarely changed. So, he knew Law had taken off.

"I need compensation for all of those men who were willing to fork over their money for one of your private dances. Funny, but they didn't want to settle for Ace. They wanted the scrawny bitch they saw dancing on the stage."

Memories plagued Law and he forced the Dalmatian spots from his mind's eye. "One of my clients wanted something a little…extra last night. I have the money, of course." He pulled out the money from Galdino, a measly wad of bills. He counted it bill by bill onto the table, arriving at an amount that did not impress. "You get your thirty percent cut for compensation. Isn't that the rules?"

Doflamingo snickered. "Oh, you're late getting that to me, Law. I'll take fifty."

"Thirty-five."

"Fifty."

"Forty."

"Forty-five. Since that's a pathetic amount right there." Doflamingo leaned back in his chair as Law separated the money and slapped forty-five percent of it in front of the fiend's nose. "Is that _really _forty-five? That's a slim stack. Not that it matters, considering the other stack belongs to me as well. Or did you forget?"

Shit. He hadn't forgotten. He had just been hoping Doflomingo had. No. Doflamingo was simply playing around with him.

He tossed the money across the table. "That's all I have. I got duped," Law growled, trying to make himself appear entirely pissed off. It was not hard to playact in the presence of this man. He was always pissed to have to hand any amount of money over. This month working for nothing was going to give him anger lines. "The guy I went with looked rich, but he had next to _nothing_."

Doflamingo stared at him through his shades, then finally took the glasses off and set them on the desk so Law could get a good look at his creepy eyes. "Do you really expect me to believe a scheming shit like you? I know for a fact you're not stupid enough for that excuse." The man got up on his desk in a crouch, leaned over, and clamped a hand down on Law's shoulder to prevent him from standing. He leaned down, grinning, to address Law with the sweetest malice.

"Law, honey, you're bouncing around too much. I don't like letting my _exotic __dancers_ out of my sight. From now on, you see me when you want to leave. I have made amends to my staff. The other bouncers were fired. Now I have guards. They'll keep you in, and they'll also keep whatever money you earn in here as well."

He drew back. "I'm not stupid, Law. These twenties are too crisp to have come out of those cute boxer-briefs of yours."

"You never know what kind of paper you're going to get when–"

"It was a metaphor for your lies. I know you're cheating me in some way. I _will_ know everything, eventually." Doflamingo let him up by removing his hand, then dropped to the floor below before straightening.

Law was already at the door by the time Doflamingo's hands were back on his shoulders. Law stiffened as he was stopped in mid motion.

"I know who you've been disappearing with, Law. It's Eustass Kidd, isn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Trust me, the cliffhanger isn't as bad as you think.

Anyways, I'm EXTREMELY stressed at the moment as too many life-altering things are happening all at once, so this story's taking a break for a while. Not sure how long. Two weeks at the very least. Sorry guys! I think you all already knew anyway, since I can hardly keep up with review replies anymore :P I love reading them though, they are really motivating…


	9. Ninth Notoriety

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Nine – Ninth Notoriety_

* * *

><p>Law didn't get a chance to sink into shock before Doflamingo spun his body around and smashed him into the door he'd been aiming to go through. He was sensing a dismal pattern in his life.<p>

"Eustass Kidd… I find it utterly hilarious that he would choose _you_, of all people, to service his needs." A twisted smile curved upwards into Doflamingo's face as Law scowled. "Oh, I know who he is, and I have an vague idea of what he earns. I knew it was him the moment I saw that red hair the night of the auction. You can't mistake high profile people who've been on TV. He's quite a famous man. Or at least his fortune is."

"I had no idea who he was. I don't watch much TV." Which, oddly enough, was the absolute truth.

"You are a compulsive liar," Doflamingo returned. "But, I will forgive you seeing as how we are both now on the same hypothetical page. I have a task for you, Mr. Trafalgar. I'm sure you can guess the nature of this task."

"You wish me to prostitute myself," Law responded. It was nothing less than he'd already been doing. Only now he was going to have to get creative in order to pull the wool over Doflamino's shades.

The man flashed a radiant smile. "You just have to remember your place, Law. You're _my _property. You don't want to make me…_angry_, do you? Because I won't be very kind if I'm angry. You might get…_hurt _if I get angry. Or worse."

"Or worse?" Law dared to question.

The fingers clutching his shoulders tightened, squeezing painfully. "Or worse. I could target someone else, of course. I'm no great discriminator when it comes to personal amusement."

"Don't you dare touch Ace. Or–"

"Or Mr. Eustass," Doflamingo cut in, smirking as Law's face froze. "Because, you know, I have connections I'm not afraid to use. In fact, when you started working here I believe I revealed someone of much importance to your past. It is most convenient that we should be talking about Mr. Eustass as well – my _favourite_ friend seeks to usurp his throne and fortune, being a most ambitious man. I'm sure you remember him, as he did own a certain illegal poorhouse you are well aware of at one point or other. Not to mention his ties to the mining industry. But the riches of the earth, no, _everything_ turned to sand for him when Mr. Eustass came along."

"_Crocodile_," Law all but whimpered.

Doflamingo only smiled and released him, knowing he had made his point clear.

* * *

><p>He was missing.<p>

Law searched the whole room, shimmying in between every table and checking every dark corner, but he couldn't find any sign of Eustass Kidd's whereabouts.

He could feel daggers stabbing into his neck. Doflamingo was watching him from his perch by the stage. He held his hands above his head in an exaggerated shrug, showing his defeat plainly. The man got up and slunk away, his expression unmoved.

Snarling with anger, Law did not make a pretty lap dancer for the remainder of the evening. He got the money, sure, but he could see he left his customers dissatisfied. That was fine. Fuck, that was preferable. Maybe they wouldn't ask for him again for a whole month.

He divided up the money and gave out the usual tips to Thatch and Apoo. If he didn't do it now and simply handed over the money to the pink fiend, they'd never get even a meager cut.

"Hey, you look like shit."

Law turned to see Ace sitting against a clothing rack, his butt on top of a box. His eyes swept over his friend, taking in Ace's disheveled hair, his droopy eyes, and the general slouch to his form.

"You look like shit, too," Law told him.

Ace snickered as he got to his feet. Law hardly expected him to throw his arms around his shoulders and lean in for a hug. "I have a bit of a problem," Ace whispered into his ear.

"Let's hear it," Law muttered. He needed someone else's problems to distract him from his own.

"I can't tell you much, but I just wanted to tell you I might be leaving very soon. I got an offer I can't refuse. A new job. I need to get out of here."

"You're not the only one."

Ace pulled back and looked him in the eye. "You should just quit. It's not worth it. If things get bad we could always ask to sleep in the back of Galdino's Grocery." He let out a goofy grin, but anyone could see it was forced.

Law sighed and thought, _I'd quit if I could. But I can't because Doflamingo will get someone to hurt me. Or you. But most likely both of us._

Ace sauntered off after a while, his eyes swimming with his own worries.

Law hung around backstage in between racks of costumes, wasting time. After the clock showed it was near closing time for the club, he checked in with Doflamingo, throwing the money he'd earned on the floor of his office and then stalking out of there before he could be taunted.

No one stopped him. Doflamingo simply laughed at his retreating back.

Later, the streetlights glared down at him, mocking his hunched shadow. He found that the bus had already driven by, and that it would take another fifteen minutes for another to show up. He didn't feel like standing outside of the Pink Flamingo alone. He would be easily recognized by those who came to watch the shows. He did not feel like fending off grabbing hands and invitations to motels. So he began to walk. Where, he hadn't the slightest clue.

At first he walked his bus route, then he deviated from the path and crossed a street. He was going deeper into the less desirable part of the city, into the thick of the slums that sat on the fringe of the industrial sector. Here the sewer rats lived, but Law wasn't afraid of them. He had nothing of value on his person save for an old switchblade that Bepo insisted he carry. He felt they would be able to perceive that from his rags.

He tripped a few times in concrete potholes, and a group of thugs gave him a glance that wasn't in the least friendly, but he moved on quickly before anything could come of it. Vaguely, he wondered if at one point in his life he had known those vagrants. It was very likely that he had.

He wandered into the valley of concrete in which one structure, half sunken into the ground with a cracking foundation, stood out starkly with its chilly grey bricks and imposing barred windows. It appeared almost a prison, and in Law's memory that had been what it was, albeit there were times when he enjoyed having that roof over his head. Any roof was preferable to no roof at all.

Yet he had never felt safe in that institution, which was a glorified orphanage for the poor and abandoned, a place of fugitives and young children. He clearly remembered meeting Bepo for the first time in there, he being one of the bigger kids that had been picked up off the street, and befriending him in hopes that he would prove too daunting with his freakish condition and large stature for any of the other gangs of children to pick on.

Law was seen as an easy target, not just to the meanest children, but to the adults as well. There were a few that genuinely got pleasure from seeing him squirm. Against them Bepo could not fight, for in this poorhouse they commanded who was fed and who slowly starved, who was allowed warm bedding and who would have to steal it or go without.

He remembered, starkly, the day he discovered that the basement of the institution contained a room full of books, which could only be reached by either passing through a locked door or by entering the room through an oversized broken vent. He chose the latter as his means, and visited the dusty room whenever he wanted to escape from the overwhelming stench of poverty. His only regret, at the time, had been that he couldn't bring Bepo through the hole in the wall into his secret abode. Later, he would realize that it had been a blessing that Bepo had not been small enough to venture forth with him.

As that was where he met Crocodile for the first time.

He swallowed, finding his saliva thick as mud. Staring at his past was going to suffocate him.

The pink scars down his spine burned from merely staring at the Baroque.

He gave up on the building as his dark thoughts disheartened him and walked across the street devoid of cars. His feet ached from standing stock still in front of the Baroque for so long, and he sought out a stairwell to lounge in. He could see the world cast in moonlight, as the streetlamps around the area were mostly diminished to the point of simply being metal rods stuck in the ground.

It was sitting there on a metal stairwell that he noticed the beam of headlights moving down the road. The area, including a depleted mining zone that used to be owned by the Baroque's head honchos, was mostly abandoned, and he snickered at the people in that vehicle that were likely lost. He watched as they stopped their car, which seemed to be black or a very dark blue under the ink of night, and several people got out.

Then he observed the thrashing of one.

He craned his head to get a better look as two men advanced, dragging one by their arms. He perceived them all to be men, based on their broad forms, and what startled him the most was how forceful the whole affair appeared.

He didn't dare move as they got out of his sight, and Law occupied himself with the wall in front of his eyes and the sight of the illuminated car. The doors had been left open and no one was inside. He could easily have run across the street and hopped into the vehicle, if he chose to do so. Driven it off and dumped it into a ditch somewhere upon getting bored.

Pondering this, he flinched when a sharp, thunderous crack rippled over the calm. He instantly knew it to be the discharging of a gun's bullet by what had happened _that particular morning_. The suddenness of the noise had him stuck against the cold wall of the building whose stairs he had sought refuge on. He waited, listening, and was awarded by the sight of two men scurrying back to their car.

The third, the one that didn't appear even as they drove away, turned out to have been thrashing for good reasons. Law figured he knew the man's fate. What he didn't realize was that his conscience begged him to investigate. He was vaulting over part of the stairwell before he really knew what it was that he was doing. Why he cared.

The world was eerily silent as he tried to figure out where it was that the two men had left the third. He walked down the road, checked behind obtrusive objects, but couldn't immediately find any victim. He assumed they wouldn't leave a body out in the open. His assumptions weren't always right, however.

He found the dark shadows of a figure slumped against a wall out in the public eye. Not that there was much public to witness, just him.

Cautiously, he sidled up to the body and took in what he realized was a man's unconscious, gnarled face. The man had scars upon scars, and a Glasgow smile to boot. Likely he had fainted from either shock or…well, he wouldn't dwell on what else. Luckily, the building he'd been left propped up against had a floodlight overhead, and Law discerned it was a warehouse that could potentially receive deliveries under the cloak of night. But that was hardly important now. What was important was the individual bleeding at his feet; he noticed the man was still breathing, though faintly.

He didn't dare move this person. Not at first. After a bit of exploratory touches he found the warm, wet sensation that led to the impact point. The bullet had gone into the side of the man's stomach, almost far enough to the right that it could have been a grazing rather than an grave injury if only the man had swayed his body to avoid it.

Before doing an assessment, Law consulted a mental map of the human body. This was a wound he could _easily _deal with, he convinced himself.

He peeled back the clothing. The man was in a dark vest with a t-shirt underneath. He was much bigger than Law was, ruggedly muscled, and had a head of long, shaggy hair that got in the way of Law's work. When he pulled it back around the man's head, he saw how severe the wound really was.

His fingers went into his pocket to withdraw Bepo's switchblade.

First he began to cut apart the t-shirt of the man. He didn't really know why he was doing all of this, but a perverse feeling of wanting to save this stranger's life had prevailed over his common sense. If he were caught, then he'd be in a questionable situation with bloody hands.

He laid out the pieces of shirt over his shoulder and positioned his body so that the white floodlight above would illuminate the bleeding wound. He grimaced at the gore, but reminded himself that he'd already made a mess, and it was now his duty to clean up after himself.

He knew how precariously he would have to go about this, but his adrenaline gave him tunnel vision, and before he thought over his screwy procedures, his knife had already been inserted. He fished for a while, using both his fingers and the knife to try and locate the bullet that would only cause more damage and infection if it were not removed immediately.

At least that was his reasoning.

It took a lot of maneuvering, and Law feared he used the knife too liberally, but the metallic gleam of a bullet covered in a thick coating of gore eventually rolled around on the asphalt. Once that was free, Law began trying to quell the bleeding using parts of the stranger's t-shirt. They soaked through in no time. The best he could do was layer them on top of each other, and zip up the vest to hold them in place.

Fingers grabbed at his side suddenly, and the previously unconscious man began to cough with vigour. Law pressed the impact point, trying to keep the skin holding together. If only he'd had a needle and some thread…

"Try to stop coughing, you're making your condition worse," Law said. "If you have a phone, I'll call an ambulance for you. Or I have to run to the nearest payphone which might be far away…even if you don't have healthcare, you might die if you don't get this looked at."

He amazed himself with how calmly he was relaying this information. Yet the man simply continued coughing, wheezing, and mumbling incoherently. The fingers on his side tightened, and Law shimmied to break free. He had a feeling he would have to find a payphone.

As he began to move away, the man sputtered and grabbed for him with the hand opposite his gaping, poorly attended wound. At first Law tried to get away, but then he realized the man was trying to tell him something. Frantically.

He leaned in and put his ear close enough to receive a light spattering of spit. But he heard what the man needed to say.

"_No ambulance_."

Law grit his teeth but forced himself to remain hunched over the man, waiting for further instructions. He was soon rewarded.

"Phone…pocket." Law's eye widened and he searched the vest, then found the man had stashed his cellular device in the pocket of his baggy pants. "Call 863…9…"

Law craned his neck trying to get closer and catch the numbers the man was uttering. He dialed them into the tiny numerical keypad and waited, listening to the melodic ringing. He almost gave up on getting an answer when a grating voice answered.

"Heat? Is that you? What the fuck you doing calling so fucking late at night?"

Law pushed the phone towards the ear of the man, sifting through his many locks of hair to find it first.

What ensued was a lot of grunting and hushed words, most of which Law couldn't even make out, and finally fingers locked onto Law's wrist and pushed the phone back beside his ear. He understood the motion.

"Um," Law muttered into the speaker. "Hello?"

"You the guy who's with Heat?"

Law quirked an eyebrow at the bizarre title. "Uh, I think. _That's_ his name?"

"Look, tell me where you two are and then leave quickly. You're some pedestrian, right? You don't want to get _too _involved in this shit."

Law bit his lip and refrained from saying anything that would get the person on the other end of the line worked up. "We're near the Baroque. Two streets down, I think. Outside the delivery area of a warehouse with a white floodlight. Near the old mining operation."

"Easy enough," the man on the other side muttered, and Law heard a pen at work. "Okay," he said, louder, "We're dispatching someone to pick him up. You should go home. What's your first name? So I know who to thank now."

Law bristled and spit out the first thing that wasn't either Trafalgar or Law.

"My name's Heart."

A pregnant pause. "_Really_? Well then…thank you, Heart. If this weren't such a dangerous game, we'd repay you somehow."

He didn't get a chance to ask whom 'we' was or what that 'dangerous game' entailed before the person hung up and left him with a beeping phone. He returned it to the pocket of the man's pants, which he could see were red naturally and only darkened with saturated blood, and told the man additional help was coming for him.

Heat, if that was really his name, grabbed the sleeve of his sweater and pulled him closer. "Thank you," he rasped. "I know… you took out the bullet."

"It needed to come out before tissue sealed around it, else it would have been more of an aggravation later. Plus, if you're going to go to a hospital soon, the doctors will charge you less for just the antiseptic and some stitching," Law informed him, wondering how it was possible that he just dismissed the whole affair with a line that could have come out of a textbook.

The man roughly repeated his thanks, then said, "Your name's… Heart? Well. Probably would have stayed out of it and bled to death if you hadn't started poking me with a knife…shit, it fucking _kills_. More than the last time I got shot…"

Law just nodded, then wondered whether he should do as the person on the phone said and get going. It was certainly looking like he was talking to a man caught up in gang life. He didn't want to deal with the repercussions of getting too friendly. "Keep holding your hand over the wound. I can't tell if the blood has stopped yet." The man was beginning to rock his head back and forth, and Law could see how he pursed his chapped lips together and grunted with pain. "Um, I think I need to get going."

"Wire told you that?"

"Uh, who?"

"Never mind. He's right, though; you should get out of here in case _they_ come back, and I don't know who's coming to pick me up."

"Are you sure you're okay with me leaving?"

"Yeah. I won't die this damn easy. Scram, Mr. Angel."

Law straightened up after looking over the afflicted area once more. The wound was in no way going to be fatal. It would take a lot more to kill this man whose Glasgow grin told of the brutalities he'd been subjected to. And subsequently survived. The way his idle chitchat had increased was a good sign that he'd be fine on his own.

He walked away, the skin on his hands cracking with dried blood. It was no good catching the bus, and he endeavored to walk the many blocks back to Bepo's apartment. The chill of the night air somewhat calmed his nerves. He found upon arrival that everyone had fallen asleep in the living room, twisted into weird positions in front of the television. Probably waiting for him.

He striped out of his ruined clothing and chucked it into the trash where it should have gone months ago, then washed himself off in the shower. He resolved to forget about the events and move on. Nothing good would come of dwelling on the life of someone playing a 'dangerous game.' He had enough to worry about already.

Exhausted, he flopped down on Bepo's bed and plunged into a dreamless sleep, knowing well that by the time he awoke tomorrow morning everyone would be gone to work.

* * *

><p>Sunday night, his night off from twirling around poles, Law lounged half naked on Bepo's bed, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the other person in the room with him. Shachi wasn't making any noise, sitting there atop Bepo's dresser with a couple tubs of paint, brushes, and a plastic yogurt container full of dirty water.<p>

Law's eyes studied the water damage on the ceiling, all yellow outlines and warped paint. It looked about ready to fall in at any moment. A part of him felt he could identify with that ugly ceiling. The thought agitated him.

"Hold that face. It's perfectly emotional," Shachi suddenly piped up.

"No problem," Law replied, "I'm perfectly depressed. When's Bepo getting back? I need to talk to him."

Shachi snorted, but Law was unsure if he was making noises for his sake, or just grunting at his painting. Sometimes Shachi did that.

"Bepo…any hour now."

"That _really_ helps, Shachi."

"I don't know. Don't ask me questions when I'm trying to paint."

Law sighed and rolled over onto his back, exposing jagged pale scars that ran the length of his spine.

"Hey! Don't move _now_! I was just about to paint the bedsheets!"

Law groaned and flipped back over, tired of staring up at the ceiling but unwilling to have Shachi make too much of a fuss. He didn't move again until his friend made it known with a grunt and a flick of his wrist that he was done, and Law was only too eager to leave the room.

It took a while for Bepo to return to the apartment, and for a few hours after he did it was impossible to corner him alone. Finally Shachi and Penguin had curled up on the couch to watch some dismal television drama, something Bepo wouldn't watch, and Law managed to get him alone in the bedroom.

Bepo laid down on the bed, with Law sprawled out on top of him.

"You know what happened today? We were paving part of that highway and this impatient idiot roared past us and ended up going off the side of the road and down a hill. Had to call an ambulance and everything."

"Was that why you were late?" asked Law.

"That, and someone made off with my stuff by accident. Had to track it down."

"Huh," Law mumbled, playing with drawstring on Bepo's sweatpants.

"You seem distracted. What's wrong?"

Law decided it would be best to just let it loose, in case he didn't get a chance to do so in the near future. "Remember that fucker, Crocodile, from almost ten years ago?"

Bepo immediately sat up and seized Law, pulling him into his lap. "Tell me everything," he demanded, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Well, I guess he's still lurking around in this city," Law began, drawing in a shaky breath. "And I guess he's Doflamingo's good friend. Funny, I thought that Crocodile had vanished with his henchmen…"

"Never to return, because he was chased out by the authorities," Bepo finished. "Yeah, well, this is just _fantastic_. I swear, if those two gang up on you…"

"I don't think I'm really that important any more. Crocodile lost interest in me after that…you know." Bepo flinched and put a beefy hand over most of his face. Law felt his eyes sting. Even after all these years it was obvious Bepo still had visions, nightmares of that incident he was loath to recall. "I'm just afraid that Doflamingo will hint to Crocodile about my connection to…Eustass Kidd, if it can even be called a connection. I don't think Crocodile will seek _me_ out."

Bepo let out a little huff of surprise. "You never told me your client was _Eustass Kidd_. We did work for his company not too long ago. I've never seen him, but I've heard bad things about his temper. You just attract men with cruel characters."

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know."

Bepo began to pat Law's head in a reassuring manner, yet Law was fairly certain that Bepo was merely patting him to reassure himself.

"I don't like this. I don't want to be reminded of that life. We're finally okay right here. I knew Ace getting you that job at the Pink Flamingo was going to cause problems. Doflamingo just looked…messed up. I heard bad things whenever his name was brought up. Then you told me he mentioned Crocodile to you when you first started working there. Like he knew who you were already. Like someone had been looking for you…"

"I should have heeded the warning sirens and disappeared, I know, not signed the contract." He left out the newest development: that he was working for free. He didn't want to worry Bepo excessively.

Bepo sighed and lay back on the bed, his grip unrelenting on Law's body. "I hate the idea of people using you."

"Even though I'm using them, too?"

Large fingers edged along Law's bare back, tracing his spine. "At least you don't leave _scars_ on them," Bepo said angrily. "I don't care where the hell Crocodile is – he ought to be in Hell for all I care – so long as he never comes near you again."

"Or you, for that matter," Law added.

"Or me. But he never favoured me, Law."

"…"

Law was about ready to drop the topic when thoughts of the man who got shot flooded his mind. Before he could think too much about what he was saying, he was telling Bepo all about it. He just couldn't keep it bottled up in front of his best friend.

Bepo listened intently, but when Law finished, all he could say was, "I can't believe you went near the Baroque. I thought we agreed never to go into that area again. Especially now that we think Crocodile is still around."

"I know Bepo, it's just that I was pulled tow–"

"To think you witnessed someone getting shot! It's horrible enough that the building hasn't burned to the ground or anything, but that there's still so much crime down there…it's not safe, Law. I hope you stayed away from the mines, or I might just punch you–"

"Bepo–"

"I'm really mad," Bepo told him, trying his best to hold an angered face. It was hard considering his nature to lean towards optimism. "I worry about you, you know."

"Bepo, calm down. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

A hint of despair entered Bepo's tone. "Don't say that to me. Ever. The last time you did, you got seriously hurt."

"…Yeah, I remember."

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> I have recovered somewhat, but updates for this story will be slow at best. Who knows though, you may see a new chapter next week. It all depends. The next few chapters get serious, as we'll be delving into the past Law and Bepo have been vaguely hinting at. Yes, there will be a flashback. It's killing me to write it, but I refuse to let you guys down by giving up!

Thanks to everyone who wrote me a review! I seriously love you all for taking the time to leave a comment. I'm also cracking up about some of the drawings relating to this story that I find on tumblr. God, I love you guys.


	10. Tenth Torment

**Warning**: This chapter contains hints of a rather questionable relationship between a minor and an adult. Nothing explicit, however. Still, slightly disturbing content ahead. The flashback starts in the middle of the chapter.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Ten – Tenth Torment_

* * *

><p>Several weeks passed before Eustass Kidd showed up at the club again. By this time, Law could keep any money he earned, but for the past few weeks he'd been living off of his savings. Now that they were pathetically diminished, he honed in on the businessman with renewed vigour.<p>

He had to take control of the situation. He just had to.

Tonight's theme was Arabian Dreams. For this show, Law wore a pair of modified harem pants made out of white silk so thin that the light shone through them and revealed everything underneath. They were fitted at the waist and ankles, but billowed out everywhere else. His arms and wrists were adorned with gold bracelets and bangles while his feet were bare. He didn't really like it that much, as walking around on the floor of a club was dangerous. He'd seen bottles get broken and glass fragments glitter menacingly while he was up on stage making love to the poles.

Someone had cut their foot earlier, and after that incident involving tweezers and the tendency of glass to slip deeper into the skin, Law fought for a pair of flats. Another dancer had wanted them, but Law was adamant about having the safety of shoes, employing his fists to the cause.

The other dancer gave in after a few punches. Law was becoming more and more violent as of late. He attributed it to three things: the lack of a certain client, Doflamingo, and the fact that Ace had disappeared a little over a week ago. Completely vanished.

Not even Marco knew where he was. He joked about Ace eloping with Officer Smoker, but his tone was dry and the worry was evident in the way his forehead creased every time Ace's name was mentioned.

Law couldn't think too deeply on the subject of Ace, however, when his own state of affairs was so bleak. All of his capital 'P' Plans had been dashed with a razor. He had to rethink his entire attack, as he found he was fighting in the darkness. Tonight was the first time in a while he'd seen some light, and with Ace gone he was looking to attempt a little push of his own. It was time.

He sauntered down to table forty-two, taking the bills of many in exchange for a few pats on the ass or a grab at his front. He didn't mind the billowing pants as they made it hard for anyone to get a firm grip on him; there was simply too much folded fabric down there.

When he arrived in front of his redheaded patron, he found his knees pathetically weak. It had been a while since he'd seen the man. In that time Kidd had become a stranger. "You called?"

"I did," Kidd said, immediately pulling Law onto his lap. Any awkwardness that might have been present before melted away and Law realized this man could never truly become a stranger to him. "Sorry I've been away from you for so long…I was detained."

Law snorted and was surprised when Kidd snuggled his face under his chin, arms going around Law's body. Holding him in a gentle embrace.

"Detained…"

Eustass' lips muttered against Law's collarbone, hot breath causing a tremor to rise up from the base of his spine to his skull. "In my own home. Seems as though things got rather rough lately, but most of the problems have been sorted out, so I thought I'd come down to see you."

"How sweet of you," Law said dryly, "to think of me."

"Come home with me," Kidd said, commanding more than asking.

Law smirked into the lush red hair that cushioned his face. It was a matter of telling the man used to getting everything that he couldn't have him without certain, _special_ procedures. "I can't."

"You don't want to come with me? I'll cook for you again, you know. And the bath is free for your use."

"Oh, it's not that I don't _want_ to go with you, it's more like I _cannot_ go with you. My boss forbids me from leaving the club without informing him first."

Eustass Kidd snorted. "Then go _inform _him."

"What, so he can expect a large cut of your money in his pocket later on tonight? Tomorrow at the latest?"

Kidd pulled away to see the rigidity of Law's steely eyes, his fingers gripping Law's goatee and lower jaw. "What? _I_ pay _you_–"

"But I have to pay _him_ cuts, because I've been messing up lately and according to my fucking contract, I have to compensate _him_. To tell you the utmost truth, _Mister fucking Eustass_, I have been in the hands of many since the last time you were here. Are you jealous? Hmm? Are you?"

Fingers tightening on his chin gave Law his answer.

"This is what I am," Law conceded solemnly. "You and everyone else are _clients_. I don't like it. Not one bit." He took a deep breath and prepared for the pitch that would make or break them. "I'd like to quit this place. The person I worry for the most is gone, probably striking out on his own, and I am assured that the others won't get too badly hurt. They're strong; they can endure. Mostly because they have no outside connections that can be taken advantage of, and the ability to depart from this life at any time. So this leaves me…

"You know what I want to ask here," Law concluded, falling silent.

Kidd scrutinized him. The answer was plain in those sharp cheekbones and stormy grey eyes. "You want me…to meet you without the overbearing influence of this place. I don't understand, are you asking for me to pay you or do you genuinely want a relationship?"

Law nearly slammed his head against the corner of the table out of frustration. "I'm almost broke," he stated simply lest he fly into hysterics.

"Oh. Well." Law thought it would be over then, as he saw what could be described as disappointment in Kidd's face. Yet Kidd's face changed, and Law could bet that the part where Law took his money wasn't really all that big of a deal to him. "In that case maybe I _should_ be taking care of you." Kidd's dangerously toothy grin glowed brighter than the lights above. "Perhaps you might consider becoming my housewife?"

"Fuck you," Law growled before he could stop himself. The very suggestion of him becoming a dependent was a stab at everything he'd worked so hard to avoid. "Fuck you and all your fucking money."

Kidd laughed darkly and seized him before he could scramble off of the man's lap. "I was kidding!"

"World's Biggest Asshole. I dump my shit on your conscience and all you do with it is crack jokes that aren't even funny."

"Fine," Kidd snapped. "Let me dump some of _my _shit on _you _for a change of pace. Okay, Heart? Because I've been suffering too, lately. You don't know what I suffer. Being away from you, unable to see you, is the ultimate form of punishment for me."

Law snorted. "Well, that's sucky, ain't it?"

"You have no idea. I am fixated on you and I can't get away. Every second thought of mine revolves around you. I'm fucking obsessed and it's killing me. I've had fixations like this in the past, with other people, but never this bad."

Law froze and the smirk he was sporting temporarily as Kidd unloaded onto him fell off his face. _Fixation_? An _obsession_?

Oh, great. He was a self-aware neurotic.

That almost explained everything. His actions, his temper, his greedy desire for Law's constant company…

Before he could open his mouth to rally off a bunch of textbook diagnostics and weigh whether his particular obsessive desire was a spin-off of borderline personality disorder or obsessive-compulsive, Kidd was already upon him with all the fervor of a dying man. Kidd kissed him, wet and sloppy, and Law bit him in return. Pain never deterred Eustass Fucking Kidd, however, and Law found himself immobilized with reckless nails running down his back.

The raking sensation down his spine, so fanatic and abysmal, dredged up a horrible memory deeply repressed into his subconscious. His head went fuzzy with a sensation of drowning into catalepsy and he let out a scream that only his ears didn't hear.

The entire club fell silent and eyes turned every which way, trying to find the starter of such commotion. Kidd halted all movement and pulled back from Law, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock.

Law panted, feeling faint, and placed his forehead on Kidd's shoulder. Shit. He hadn't meant to burst out in momentary hysterics like that. But that feeling…his skin crawled at the mere thought of what was long connected to that sensation.

"H-Heart?"

Law just shook his head slowly against that warm shoulder, not wanting to meet the eyes of the man who'd triggered an explosive memory. He also didn't want to lift his head to see all the glittering eyeballs in the dark room that were indubitably staring at him.

"Heart, are you okay?" Fingers were in his hair, petting him, trying to soothe him.

He remained immobile until he felt a not so unfamiliar hand on the nape of his neck.

"Are you the man who raped my darling dancer? Mr. Eustass?"

Law jolted to full wakefulness, spinning on Doflamingo. "No, he isn't, he's not, I swear he's–"

"What are you talking about?" asked Kidd, extremely offended to the point of curling his fingers into his palm, clenching them together to form a fist. "I have raped _no one_."

Doflamingo was smiling as he said, "Heart, I wish to speak privately with you."

Law let out a haggard exhale and made to get up, but found he was locked down securely.

"You're not taking him. He's _mine_. Get lost."

A snarl was upon Doflamingo's features in a flash. No one gave _him _orders to leave in his own establishment, and certainly no one dared to raise their tone with him at any time. "You'll find by order of contract that he's actually _mine_, Mr. Eustass. He is on _my _property, and works for _me_ and me _only_."

Held down from all angles, Law's mind adopted the mentality of a cornered wolf. He would not go easily. Anywhere. With anyone.

"I belong to neither of you," Law snapped, beginning to thrash. Kidd loosened his grip on Law's hips for just a second, and Law seized that moment to make a dash for it. The crowd, the sea of evils, parted for him and let him pass.

He didn't know how far he sprinted, especially after leaving the club behind in his wake. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't even know _who _he was anymore, seeing as everyone else had an opinion about whom he _belonged_ to.

_Pet, Pet, Pet. Come here, Pet._

His memories assaulted and muddled him until his thoughts were nothing but mangled recollections of the boundaries and limitations that had always confined him wherever he went.

Yet he knew one thing quite clearly. He refused to be someone's _pet_ ever again. He refused to be owned.

* * *

><p>Law wasn't allowed outside most days of the year. Actually, the majority of the children weren't. After living so long behind grimy windows and brick walls he somewhat forgot the sky was blue, not the perpetual grey of the dirty glass and of his eyes.<p>

It had been a grey day today, as usual, and Bepo had been outside for the first time in a few weeks. He had just finished telling Law all about the rain and mud when a dark shadow appeared behind him and Law looked up into cold eyes sunk into sallow skin. Flickering light reflected off the nearly bald head of Mr. 1.

"Boys, what are you two idling around for? You, to the kitchen," the man snapped, pointing Bepo away. At thirteen, Bepo was old enough to know that he should simply obey, not question. Especially when it was someone like Mr. 1 who was giving directions. He slunk off, casting a lingering, distressed glance over his shoulder at Law.

He was twelve years old and extremely bright for his age. He knew Bepo got upset easily. He put on a brave face for him as the stoic Mr. 1 jabbed a meaningful finger down a dark hallway to the left before disappearing back into the labyrinth.

Law stood long enough to collect himself and set off, balling his tiny hands into fists around the hem of his black shirt. He was wanted elsewhere.

The tiles underfoot were grimy with loose dirt that had been knocked off of the shoes of many vagrants just like himself. Yet as soon as he began walking down this particular hall he noticed the lack of dirt on the flooring, which told him of the lack of people that had come this way. He knew it was just he and the elite Baroque workers that visited this part of the building. They were the only ones that were allowed to.

There were two rooms at the end of the hall and a staircase that led to the bowels of the poorhouse. Law went down that staircase, entering the den of the crocodile. Many people did not know that crocodiles, those scaly beasts with bone crushing jaws, could actually be found in dank, underground caverns made of only rock. Not sewers, no. Not here at least.

The bricks exuded cold and the passageway Law found himself going down seemed to push in on him, growing smaller and smaller the deeper he went into the labyrinth. Down here there was only two destinations. One of which he loved, the other he hated with a passion he didn't know he was capable of.

He continued. To stop or turn back would eventually get him to the destination he hated the most as punishment.

He got to the end of the hall, past an eerie hollow with a steel door, to one with a wooden one. He knocked three times with his small, dirty knuckles and waited.

A gruff voice bid him to enter. He obeyed.

Inside was his sanctuary, his most beloved place. He had discovered it first when he was a year younger and not as wise to the ways of the house. He had been trying to escape, deciding to use the vents as his route of choice, as any other conventional exit was always guarded or locked. Bepo had wanted to accompany him, but Law knew Bepo was too big to fit, so promised him that he'd come back and save him, should he ever find a way out.

He never did, because the first and last attempt ended with him discovering the cavern in which the crocodile hid itself. And his treasures.

Not many people ever saw the brains behind the operation that was run in the world above the staircase. Law hadn't even believed there was someone higher up than Mr. 1, but the man carried orders that had come from somewhere, from someone even he respected. When he finally met that person, he remembered the scary realization that a single man had compromised his freedom, and sold it off for the production of cheap wares. For the poorhouse was, at its core, a labour factory.

At the time, he accepted that.

Now, with access to this sanctuary, this _library _of books, his knowledge had rapidly expanded and he knew that to accept was to resign to a life devoid of pleasures. He became set on change, not just for him, but for his friend, too.

"Sir Crocodile," Law muttered, inclining his head. The musky scent of old books kept in a damp place where they would eventually rot assailed his nostrils.

A grunt instructed him to draw closer to the backside of a leather chair. He could see a plume of smoke rising up to adhere to the ceiling, and his nose picked up on it only after becoming used to the scent of the books.

He went around to the front of the chair to see the man in full. The pinstripe suit, the dark, ominously gleaming hair slicked back from his forehead, the train track scar that went horizontal across his face, across the bridge of his nose…Law took note of it all, aware that in the year since he'd landed in the library from the vent above, not much had changed about the man's appearance.

"Come here, Pet."

"Yes, Sir."

Law went over and preformed the usual; he climbed into Crocodile's lap, received a pat on the head, and peered down at a smorgasbord of legal documents that littered the desk in front of Crocodile's chair.

Crocodile leaned forward and grabbed a cigar from an open packet also on the desk. While he leaned forward, pushing Law with him, the boy grabbed the lighter sitting next to it. After a while doing this strange routine, he'd become proficient at lighting cigars.

He had to stifle a cough when the smoke floated around his head, putting a not so temporary stink in the air. There was an air exchange system, but it worked just about as well as Law's escape plans.

Crocodile then asked to be handed a particular sheet of paper. Law obeyed, giving it to the waiting hand, all cracked skin and cadaverous colour. Crocodile's one good hand.

The other one was but a stump covered by a gleaming hook, which Law had seen do horrific things. Once, he had been sitting in the corner of the room, reading one of Crocodile's books, when someone from above had come down. Whether they had been a Baroque Worker or not, Law didn't know, only that the hook was lethal when stabbed into the gullet of a man. They'd brought bad news for Crocodile's project, that much Law had understood when watching the man thrash about on the ground spurting blood from his neck.

Luckily, Crocodile did not make Law clean up the mess. Law thought he might, and was terrified of having to do so, but instead Crocodile had Mr. 1 do it. The man had not been happy, and when he'd asked why the 'little brat' wasn't doing it, Crocodile had replied that 'his pet' would then be too dirty to be his pet any longer.

The words had almost made Law want to roll in the blood, but he had the sense to know it was a faulty escape plan.

"Do you know what this is?" Crocodile asked him, holding the paper Law had just handed him in front of his face. He did not wait for Law to answer. "It's the money my company is earning. Notice the red figures."

"Doesn't that mean you're not earning anything?" Law asked quietly, as if doing so would lessen the severity of his words.

Crocodile snorted and puffed a ring of smoke around Law's black hair, making an ashen halo. This time Law couldn't suppress a cough. "You're perceptive, though I'd expect no less from my Pet."

The arm with the hook wrapped around Law's midsection and held him close. Law crinkled his nose when Crocodile's foul breath managed to infiltrate his nose. "It is true that the company is not earning anything. The mine has run dry of anything valuable and my competitors are moving in. If they manage to secure papers for the Alabasta Desert, I'm finished."

"You want to purchase the Alabasta Desert?"

"Yes," Crocodile said gruffly. He enjoyed how easy the kid was able to follow his thoughts. Despite his age, in a way he was so much smarter than some of the higher ranking Baroque officers. The child also never irritated him. He knew when to be silent and become a fixture in the room and when to vie for Crocodile's attention against his depressing legal documents.

The topic of the outside world was something of interest to Law, having been cooped up for long periods of time in the stuffy world of Crocodile's making. So he posed a question.

"Can you see the Alabasta Desert from here? If we were standing on top of the Baroque's roof?"

"Yes," Crocodile replied tiredly. "It's on the outskirts of the city."

"Sir Crocodile, can I go outside and see it?"

"No. I don't want to lose my Pet."

And Law sank with a pout that he didn't let the grim-faced man see. So much for trying to get a key to get outside.

He refocused his energy on the next best thing. The many bookcases that lined the room, collecting dust and absorbing smoke. He'd gone through a great chunk of the reading that was available to him when he asked.

He indicated his desire to leave Crocodile's lap by straining against the hand that was currently on top of his head, trying to dislodge it. At last, Crocodile let him go, his arm adorned with a hook slithering away like a deadly, poisonous snake.

Jumping down from Crocodile's lap, Law made for the bookshelf that was farthest from the man's chair. The books were categorized by subject, and Law had read almost everything in the medical section, the subjects within he'd found vastly fascinating. There was a book from that section that he'd skimmed before but hadn't the chance to read more in depth due to being discharged from the room by urgent news brought by Mr. 1. So he took that volume down and sat on the floor, cross-legged. He lifted the book to obscure his face and began to read.

It was a psychology book dealing in mental illnesses, or what was known about them at the time of writing. Law went through the sections quickly, skimming again. He was more interested in Crocodile's irritated face and the ominous sound of his hook scrapping against the wood of the desk. That was a subtle movement that Law knew spelt annoyance. So he kept quiet and watched over the top of the volume for any new developments.

After a while, Crocodile wordlessly got up and left the room. While he was gone, Law took a quick tour of the important papers on the desk. There was nothing of true interest to him there. Mining documents were boring, full of figures he didn't care to spend the time interpreting.

He went back to his book. He was still on the section detailing bipolar disorders, about halfway down the page. Now it was getting into some of the moods. He zipped through 'mania,' having already read a different book on the subject, and began reading the milder mood case.

_Hypomania (literally, "below mania") is a mood state characterized by tenacious and inescapable lofty (euphoric) or irritable mood, as well as thoughts and behaviors that are consistent with such a mood state. Many people also experience signature hypersexuality, detailed on page 213._

Now there was a condition he hadn't heard of before. He followed the reference page number and flipped through the smelly, cigar imbued pages until he located 213.

_Hypersexuality is extremely frequent or suddenly increased sexual urges or sexual activity. Hypersexuality is typically associated with lowered sexual inhibitions. Although hypersexuality can be caused by some medical conditions or medications, in most cases the cause is unknown. Medical conditions such as bipolar disorders can give rise to hypersexuality, and alcohol and some drugs can affect social and sexual inhibitions in some people…_

He was amused. Perhaps this book wasn't as boring as he thought it might be. He would have to finish reading it, if only to find the curious tidbits like that blurb. Anything on sexuality always piqued his interest, simply because the drive for sex was a primal instinct that occurred across the poorhouse and at times impacted him.

A loud slam of a heavy door indicated Crocodile's return. Law looked up from his book and, before Crocodile could even sit down on his throne again, asked:

"Can I take this book with me, Sir?"

"Bring it back in _excellent_ condition. Nothing less, Pet."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now come here. I have a bit of a surprise for you."

Dutifully, Law trotted over, book tucked under his arm. He came up to the leather armchair, unsure if Crocodile wished for him to sit on his lap once more or stay standing at his side. A pained grunt escaped his throat when Crocodile picked him up by wrapping an arm under his and hoisting him into the air. If it had been the first time, Law would've thought his arms had been popped out of their sockets. As it was, he was used to it.

He accidentally lost his grip on the book and it dropped to the ground, landing squarely with no pages falling loose. He forgot about it in a hurry when Crocodile dropped his butt on the table, on top of his work papers.

Shiny objects on the table caught Law's eye and he instinctively reached for them before Crocodile had even let out a sound. He was prodded in the chest with a blunt fingertip and told to wait.

"It's a gift," Crocodile said, "so you'll get it soon enough. Remember how you said my gold earring was rather 'cool'? Well, I thought I'd be nice and get you some earrings of your own. One for every ring on the fingers of my good hand." His only hand, Law thought with somewhat dry amusement.

Crocodile shifted and produced a case from his pocket, which he proceeded to open with slight difficulty. Inside was a motley collection of silver bits. Law was apprehensive at best when he saw the sharp needle Crocodile withdrew. "This is going to hurt…" he mumbled, mostly to himself.

"Are you complaining, Pet?"

Law grit his teeth before he could reply foolishly, releasing his jaw only when he was sure nothing stupid would come out of his mouth. "No, Sir."

"Well then, turn your head so I can see your left ear." Law turned and exposed his left cheek, which was rapidly paling. His right was pressing against something cold and ruthless. The base of the hook. If he concentrated enough, he could see his likeness in the glinting gold. A dark blur and two grey eyes that were trying stubbornly not to fill with tears.

He felt the dragging of a needle across his skin as Crocodile lined it up, then a quick pinching and it was over for one earring. The adrenaline had kicked in and numbed any pain. That wasn't so bad, Law thought with a nervous laugh. Then he felt the needle again, and the second pinch was leagues worse than the first. As surprising as it was, he jumped and felt the needle, already stuck in his ear, stretch the pinprick wound. He whimpered and bit his lip, afraid that there was water clinging to his eyelashes. Crocodile wouldn't like that. Not one bit.

"Hold still," Crocodile grunted. Law didn't feel the needle get retracted, but his ear certainly protested having the second earring shoved in. Again he winced and clenched his jaw. Crocodile had lost his other hand a while ago for all that Law knew; yet he was clumsy with only one and for once Law pitied him, if only to pity himself.

His chin was jerked so he could see into Crocodile's eyes, and vice versa. He didn't like looking at the man's wrinkles, which were setting in at a relatively young age, and cast his eyes to some place in the background.

"You look cute with just the two," the big man muttered, studying the boy with his hook under the kid's chin. "But then that would be a waste of money if I only did two."

Crocodile lined up the first piercing with his unblemished ear and put in a third. "Three." Law gritted his teeth some more, hearing the minute cracking of his jaw. The man was too damn slow at the painful parts, fumbling with the third earring and pushing it through only to clasp it in the back using his oversized fingers. Law swore that if he were ever to inflict unnecessary pain on another, he would make it as quick as possible.

The needle poked through again. "Four."

"Ouch," Law stated as the clasp on the fourth earring was finally set. "That hurt."

"You look so pretty now."

"I don't think I'm any prettier than before," Law replied guardedly. He didn't want Crocodile to get feely with him now. That would make the whole visit absolutely _unbearable_. He waited for the moment Crocodile moved his clawed arm away and tried to sidle to the side and leap from the table. The moment came, but he barely made it two inches before Crocodile used all of his arm strength to push Law down on his back, the blunt side of his hook digging in to his stomach. It wasn't painful, but Law knew it wouldn't be wise to move anywhere.

He stiffened and waited it out. Sometimes it would be minutes, sometimes only what felt like an instant. This time was longer than the average.

Crocodile stared down at him with perfect apathy, his eyes roaming over the prone position of the boy. He reminded him of a submissive dog, yet his fiercely fortified eyes, so devoid of traceable emotion, reminded him of a cat. Only this boy was young enough to be a kitten.

Still too young for what Crocodile would like to do to him.

A languid smirk appeared in the curve of Crocodile's mouth and Law tried not to frown in response. He knew Sir Crocodile hated it when he made such appalled expressions in his presence. So he remained neutral, perhaps frigid. Even when Crocodile leaned down over his body and gave his forehead a kiss. Then his cheeks. And finally his lips, lingering there but not breaching any new territory by Law's standards.

His kisses were dry. Stale. Unloving.

To Crocodile he was but a commodity, a handsome toy to be played with, lavished with false love, and then dumped in the ditch when the time became right to renew his assets. He hadn't known how precarious his situation was until that fateful night when Crocodile was balancing his books at year-end.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: <strong>This story's on another temporary break because I have exams coming up. There's also this 'fanfiction is deleting everything rated slightly higher than mature' scare, so I'm lying low. However, if this story and my account do get deleted, know that I'm on 'An Archive of Our Own' under the name 'Reiki' and I'm in the process of uploading my stories to that website.

I've also written and posted another Smoker/Ace story and a Kidd/Law story, if anyone's interested in either of those two. At all.

Hopefully I'll see you guys soon!


	11. Eleventh Endeavour

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Eleven – Eleventh Endeavor_

* * *

><p>"Only time can take away obsessions," Law read aloud. He was back in a room filled with small cotes, and several other boys were lying down, either asleep or staring listlessly at the ceiling. "There are other medications that can be tried for the bipolar, such as lithium carbonate, and psychological exercises for the obsessive-compulsive, but time and often distance is the greatest ally."<p>

His voice was the only thing to be heard save for the buzzing of a fan someone had found and placed in the corner of the room in an effort to move around the stagnant, hot air. "Obsessions for the bipolar and obsessive-compulsive can range from persons, to objects, to numbers and other mathematical probability."

"Shut up, little whore. Some of us are trying to get some goddamn sleep here."

Law's voice didn't falter reading the passage, as the words of the other boy went through one ear and cleanly out the other. He was reading aloud to keep himself from feeling the full force of the lingering pain that remained from the piercings. He had dared to touch the earrings a few minutes ago and the punctures had stung, especially on his left ear where he'd jumped when the needle went awkwardly through the flesh for the second time.

"Certain compulsions ease anxiety for the afflicted, but only for a short amount of time, and then the anxiety often returns with greater force…"

He trailed off as someone slammed a door. His eyes flicked up to see one of the more burley boys had entered the room and was looking him over in a predatory way. This boy had a thick neck, so much out of place on his boyish body that Law had taken to jokingly calling him Necker behind his back. Law got up off his stomach, already on the offensive.

The boy grinned maliciously. "Where'd you get those earrings, bitch? They real gold? Bet they're worth a lot."

"Maybe we should take 'em," someone suggested, the same boy that had told Law to shut up hardly a minute before. Law gave him a scathing glare, but with the other boy in the room with them wasn't much for Law to fear. In fact, he was rather confident considering Law had made him piss his pants before. This boy he had nicknamed Pisser for obvious reasons.

"Even if we did rip them out of his ears, where the hell'd we be able to sell 'em? Nobody got money in here," a third boy piped up, appearing over the side of a bunk bed to stare down at Law with malevolent intent. Law knew he was one of the more cautious of boys, and a devout follower of the strongest in this quarter. It guaranteed his safety, which Law had to begrudgingly admit would've been nice every once and while.

"Dunno. Maybe we could trade them. With the miners. They could get us stuff and sell 'em at a pawn shop," the leader said, folding his arms and showing the premature muscles in his shoulders. Law almost laughed aloud. Necker looked absurd standing there like he owned the place. Hell, Necker looked absolutely absurd all the time.

"Nah, they'd just steal them and leave you losers with nuthin'," Law said, breaking up the argument. They all stared at him with mild irritation at his interruption. Then it seemed as though Law's words finally sunk into their thick skulls, for their faces became mean and impudent.

"You're the fucking loser, _whore boy_," Necker snarled.

Law took the thorn straight into his thigh. He growled, the tiny injuries to his pride piling up into a gaping wound, and leapt to his feet. "You wanna fight?"

"With a twiggy bitch like you? Sure. Big Boss Croc ain't here to save ya. Never even seen 'em in my life. 'E probably doesn't even exist and you probably stole those earrings."

Something caught Trafalgar's eye. It was a mop leaning against a doorframe. "In fact, _gentlemen, _I'll mop this floor with your goddamn blood."

He didn't wait for the bullies to gang up on him and attack in full force. He went straight for the mop, grabbing it by its handle. He swung it about in an arc, smashing into the head honcho's legs, right behind Necker's kneecaps.

It was so rare that he got to land the first hit. He savoured the cry of the older boy as his knees buckled. He didn't fall though, but Law knew he'd at least gotten in a bruise and some lasting pain.

The boy stationed on one of the bunk beds leapt down, landing beside him. Law tried to give Pisser a quick jab, but he his aim was off and the boy tackled him instead. He shook his body like a wet dog, not wanting to stay as stationary prey. Law knew the procedure; they'd grab him, push him down to the ground, and beat him until someone intervened. That was if he was lucky.

The other two were on him. One went for the length of the mop while the other stooped to get his legs. He knew falling would mean defeat, and kicked with all his might at the boy beneath his mop's immediate reach.

_Crack_.

He thought he broke someone's nose.

The boys were like a pack of hyenas. They didn't care how many of them got hurt when they went in for a kill. Law would bet that, like the hyenas he'd read about in Crocodile's lair, the boys would get so focused on drawing blood that they would begin to gnaw on each other, unaware of who was ally or enemy.

He kicked at the one trying to hold him, feeling little fingers on his neck. Those fingers clamped down and he gasped, trying to tuck his chin in an effort to dissuade those fingers from choking him. If only he could bite the fingertips off. He would, if the chance presented itself.

The leader of the pack slugged him in the side of the head.

He should have been paying Necker more attention. The boy had injured him more than once before, and always by using his brute strength, never his brains. Now he was on the ground, writhing, with two of the bastard children on top of him.

The only good thing was that the dumbass with the pointy fingertips had stopped trying to starve him of oxygen.

He got a blow to his gut. Then another.

Howling with pain-stricken anger, Law caught the attention of a certain bulky passerby. They stormed into the room, accessed the situation with pale blue eyes, and launched themselves at Law's most brutal attacker, knocking him to the ground. The other boy on Law reared back in alarm, and that was all the opportunity Law needed to stick a foot into the stomach of the more timid of his assailants.

Bepo only managed to give Necker a bruise on his jaw before Mr. 1 made his appearance. By this time in his career, Mr. 1 was quite accomplished in the field of intimidation and separation of assets. He kicked the boys apart and established order on behalf of the elusive, unseen Sir Crocodile.

"Who started this?" he barked in his deep bass tone.

The boy who held his bloody nose in his hands, the victim of Law's foot, let his hands stray from their duty keeping the red blood from falling on the scuffed flooring to point at Law. "He did!"

"I did not!" Law lied. "They ganged up on me!"

"I don't care if you all kill one another, I just care when the five of you chose to fight rather than rest. That tells me you're not tired enough and need more work to do." Law's friend and saviour in particular flinched. "Bepo, you ought to be in your dorm room trying to sleep, with the other boys who were repairing factory equipment." He directed his attention to the hyenas in the room. "And you three will report to Miss Valentine downstairs in the work rooms. As for you, Law…"

Mr. 1 hesitated, scrutinizing his new earrings with his dark eyes. They were a telltale sign that Law had already reported to Crocodile and that he'd fulfilled his reason for being.

"For the next week I'm giving you the duty of cleaning the kitchens after the cooking is done. Then you'll help with the laundry. You will _not_ tell Crocodile, of course, for if you do_ I_ shall deal with you _severely_."

Law muffled a snort by raising the sleeve of his oversized shirt to his nose.

"I'll work with him," Bepo volunteered automatically. Law sent him a bereaved look. Bepo nearly always offered to alleviate any burden of Law's. "Give me half of his shifts. Or let me work next to him and we'll get it done quicker."

"Fine. I don't care. Just get out of my sight, you disgusting little sewer rats." He stared at Law in particular as he made that comment.

Bepo grabbed Law's arm and spirited him away down the corridor and out of Mr. 1's sight. It was no secret that the man abhorred Law, for when the little boy had first caught Crocodile's attention he had become something of a pampered doll. Or at least that was what it seemed like in Mr. 1's eyes. There were days when he dined in Crocodile's presence and others where he spent the day lounging around in the hidden library while everyone worked. Only Mr. 1 really knew about Crocodile's true fondness for the boy. Others merely speculated when Law appeared and disappeared like a phantom.

Jealousy bred hatred between Law and Mr. 1.

"He's going to kill you one day with his knives," Bepo said as they stopped running to catch their breath. A few adults passed them in the hall, their clothing sooty and their faces blackened by the mines in which they worked during the daylight hours. They didn't acknowledge the kids so long as they were out of the way, and Law grimaced as he realized next week Bepo would likely get a laundry shift again, like the week before. In addition to whatever he'd volunteered for Law's sake.

"Why do you always do that?" Law grumbled. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone? I don't have things to do most days, and you _always _have work."

"I like to be with you," Bepo answered simply. "You don't make fun of me."

Law shrugged. While he did think Bepo was a bit too soft around the edges and had his head in the dust clouds many days, there wasn't much to make fun of in his opinion. Of course, appearance wise there was a ton to make fun of Bepo for. Law just didn't think it was funny.

"You're crazy to ally yourself with me," Law said as they passed through a set of doors into a stinky place known as the Black Hole. It might have been a respectable kitchen, once. Now the dust that clung to all surfaces from the miners who brought it in darkened the fixtures by ten shades. It was hard to work in this windowless, stuffy environment, and as a result those on cooking duty were easily irritated.

They wandered into the throng of otherwise homeless people who earned the roof over their head by the number of potatoes they peeled or the carrots they chopped. Had Law been alone, he wouldn't have been immediately noticed, but with Bepo trailing behind him and dwarfing him in every way they garnished attention.

"No brats in the kitchen," someone said, voice kinder than most.

"We got sent to do cleaning," Law said. The man who addressed them pointed to the sinks overrun with dishes and cutlery. Beside the mound in the sink was a towering castle of pots and pans and other miscellaneous things. Must have been breakfast. "It's not that bad," Law said to Bepo as they went over.

"I think that's the first bit of optimism I've _ever_ heard from you," Bepo said softly.

"I was just stating a fact," Law replied, peering down into the sink. There was stale water already in it, and after removing a bunch of the dishes he found the sink was clogged. "What the hell is that monster down there?"

He was, of course, referring to the muck stuck in the drain. Yet someone came over to look and offered to dislodge it. Law looked up to see that it was one of the higher-ranking men that reported to Mr. 1. Law had seen him around, but had never really been spoken to by the man. His name, if Law remembered correctly, was Galdino.

They spent a couple hours in the kitchen, and in that time Law studied Galdino, as he knew the man reported to Mr. 1 and had the capacity to get him in serious trouble if he so wished. He realized the man was supervising the operation, and couldn't help but note that every time he helped out he had a certain peculiar way of dealing with things.

There was something about the number three.

Bepo elbowed him after a particularly lengthy pause in his work drying the dishes Bepo scrubbed. He'd been staring too intently. "Hey. Wake up, Law."

"Sorry. It's just…that guy's got a thing going for him. He does everything three times." Bepo looked at him like he was crazy, and Law elaborated. "He checked to make sure the stove was off three times. In a row. Then he took out three knives from the drawer over there and put two back. Look, now he's doing it with the forks…"

"Huh. Maybe he's getting ready to serve Croc and doesn't want anything to go wrong?"

"Don't even mention Croc in my presence," Law growled, returning to his scrubbing with renewed vigour. Bepo kept silent for the remainder of their shift, only now he couldn't help but peek out of the corner of his eye and watch Galdino meticulously count things.

* * *

><p>A week passed by until something of interest happened to the boys. They were in the laundry room, which was something of a factory space, and sorting through clothes that had been through the washer and dryer. Each piece of clothing had a number sewn on somewhere it would be easily visible, and they had gotten stuck with the job of running around trying to match numbers.<p>

"I got an 82 shirt and a 79 pants left over," Bepo said glumly. "Do you think the washer ate their matches? Should I just put them together anyway?"

"They belong to two different people, Bepo," Law replied. "You don't want 82 beating 79 up, or vice versa, do ya?"

Bepo sighed. "Maybe the dryer ate them, not the washer. Should I look?"

"Naw, don't bother. It'll take too much time to search all the machines." Law let his eyes sweep over the expanse of machinery, some stacked on top of one another. Most were front loading machines, and a few were still going, noisily chugging along. Law wondered how much water they used up every week. Laundry was almost a daily thing.

He was just glad he only had to do it every once and a while.

He turned back to Bepo, who was still distressing over mismatched clothes. The shirt with the patch on it that said 82 was clearly assigned to a bigger man than the pants labeled with 79. "Here, let me see. We could always just throw them back into a washer and hope nobody notices. Then it'll be someone else's problem."

Bepo tossed him the heavy garments, designed to withstand wear and tear. Law turned them over in his hands, deciding that it would be easier to wrap the shirt around the pants if he balled them up. So he tried to fold the pants as tightly as possible, shaking them out first to try and remove the wrinkles that would bulk it up.

Something metal fell from the pants and bounced down the tile floor. Bepo stared and picked up the coins that had fallen. "Money?" he muttered, curiously turning it around in his hands.

Law dropped the pants, almost scampering over to see what Bepo had picked up, then a thought hit him and he picked up the pants again to search its pockets. Sure enough, he found more squirreled coins.

"Huh, Mr. 1 would shoot this guy if he knew he was hoarding money in his work clothes," Bepo said jokingly. There was a hint of truth to that.

"Yeah, that's not allowed," Law muttered. "Maybe we ought to pocket this, considering we're not miners."

Bepo stared at him, his jaw slack so his lips parted stupidly. "What? Like, steal?"

"I don't think of it as stealing," Law said. He dropped the coins on the ground, then picked them back up. "See, I picked them up off the ground, so they're mine now."

Bepo did not look so sure of that. "I don't want these."

Law shook his head in disbelief. He strode forward and took the coins out of Bepo's palm, shoving them into his pocket before anyone came into the laundry room. "Bepo, he real world runs on these."

"But we don't live in the _real_ world," Bepo replied with a forced laugh. "We live in here. I dun wanna get in trouble for hoarding things. What if Mr. 1 finds out?"

Law snorted. "He _won't _find out. Besides, if we ever want to escape, we're going to need these," he jingled the coins in his pocket, "to survive."

"…I don't know if I want to leave after all," Bepo said. "At least in here we have a place to stay. Food to eat. And all that."

Law was growing increasingly irritated. "Yeah, but _out there _is the whole world. In here is _nothing_. Don't you want to go outside?"

He knew Bepo was fearful, but he didn't want Bepo to just grow up to be one of Croc's disposable miners. He saw it as much too simple a life. The oppression he felt now he knew that Bepo would eventually feel when maturity set in, and he wanted to get him out before that happened. When Bepo became more knowledgeable about the outside world, he'd realize there was more to life than the repetitiveness of the poorhouse. Outside, there were opportunities, he just knew it.

In truth, there weren't that many kids held in the Baroque with them. Just enough for some of the menial duties to be preformed. Older kids were moved up to different occupations, some of them joining the rank of miners that scoured the earth for riches that would be sent out for manufacturing or wherever it was they went. Law didn't care enough to press Crocodile for the answers.

"I guess going outside would be awesome," Bepo said slowly. He looked around him, wary of listening ears that could prosecute them later. "That's why I just want to get through these years. Move up."

Law shook his head; Bepo had been so brainwashed by the conditions of everyday, and he was beginning to think it wouldn't be possible to save him. "Well, I'm escaping. I just gotta figure out how to do it without getting caught. I wasn't born here like you – I know outside's a better place to be, even if I end up sleeping in the streets hungry. It's better because then you're free, and you can do whatever the hell you want."

Bepo pondered this, playing with his hands and digging dirt out from beneath his cuticles. "I guess. But we can't just walk out."

"That's why it's called _escape,_ Bepo," Law said sternly. "We can't just walk out because we're considered the _property_ of this place. Or at least that's what we're told. I'm nobody's _property_."

"Me too," Bepo chimed in. His eyes turned downward and he grabbed the bottom hem of his shirt, twisting it around his little fists. "Well, if you do decide to leave, don't go without me. I couldn't stand to be by myself again."

"Even if I get out first, I'll come back and get you," Law promised. He looked towards a clock hung high up on the wall with a steel lattice around it. "We should get upstairs and eat. Save up our strength. We'll do some planning later when everyone's asleep. I have a plan, but it involves using Croc's secret entrance in his library. There's a reason most people never see him, after all."

Bepo gulped at the mention of the elusive owner of the workhouse and seemed about to back down from the challenge, but Law flashed him such a confident grin that Bepo couldn't help but try to feebly return it.

* * *

><p>Law's heart pounded in his chest as Crocodile's palm closed over his eyes.<p>

He winced, for several reasons, and tried to get away but Crocodile's one good hand drifted to grasp his shoulder. He was held in place firmly, and seeing Crocodile's scowl anew made his heart feel as though it had burst and stopped supplying blood to his brain.

"Who did this to you?" Crocodile asked, his voice no more than an lizard-like hiss. His eyes flicked over the unsightly bluish-yellow bruise that decorated Law's left temple. "Well?"

His voice was so utterly commanding that Law was forced to concede, "Mr. 1. He got mad and hit me."

His calm tone surprised the both of them. Truthfully, during the walk down concrete stairs into the Croc's abode, Law had been silently mouthing the words he needed to say. Now, to finally say them in front of the man was terrifying, but he was well rehearsed.

Crocodile's face contorted in anger and he seemed almost poised to strike Law, his clawed stump raised above Law's head. Law sucked in a deep breath as the hook descended upon him, moving through his black locks of hair parting them down his scalp. He clenched his eyelids closed and angled his head down, afraid that if he moved backwards the end of the hook would puncture his skull. He felt it, cold and dangerous, slithering down the back of his head and neck, then come around to his front and lift up his chin so it pointed at the rather low ceiling. He opened his eyes and blinked at the silhouetted shadow above him, standing in the way of the overhead incandescent light that coloured the room a putrid yellow.

"I'm surprised he'd do this. He knows better than to mar my Pet. Now, what did you do to upset him?"

Law swallowed, the skin of his throat moving over the cold metal. "I said something he didn't like. He put me on duty cleaning the kitchen, and I told him what you _always_ tell me – that I'm not supposed to get my hands dirty."

"Or anything else for that matter," Crocodile growled. The hook left his chin and drifted away, allowing Law to breath a sigh of relief without worry that he would injure himself. "I'll settle this matter. Until then, stay here."

Dry lips descended on his forehead, and Law comforted himself with the sole thought that, perhaps, this would be the very last time he'd have to feel them on his skin. Crocodile brushed past him, his pinstripe suit smoothing against Law's tattered black shirt, sending a shiver down his body.

He turned to watch Crocodile leave, and when he was out of sight beyond the heavy door that led to the hallway, Law began to search.

He'd never found anything before, but always he'd been under the watchful eye of the man he'd just sent stomping his way upstairs to find his second in command. Now that he was out of the Croc's hungry gaze, his heart settled down while his stomach twisted itself in knots. What if he was wrong? What if Crocodile didn't have some sort of other route to get outside?

When Crocodile returned, he wanted to be long gone from the Baroque, preferably with Bepo who was waiting at the corner of the hallway that led down towards Crocodile's chamber. Bepo had taken some convincing to stand in plain sight of Crocodile, a man he'd never seen before but knew existed from Law's vivid descriptions, and would head downstairs to meet Law before anything happened.

He hoped Bepo remembered to hide his right fist where his knuckles were badly bruised. Bruises showed up starkly against albino skin, but Bepo had been the only one Law trusted to punch him in a location that wouldn't hurt _too _bad. Except, it had taken a lot of tries, because Bepo wasn't one to hit hard, especially when his only friend was on the receiving end.

Mr. 1 was supposed to be on the far side of the workhouse at the moment, patrolling the only entryway the building had. There was always someone stationed there, making sure only those with permission were allowed out and back inside. Of course, the miners were usually the only ones with such rights, and right now was peak activity time for movement through those doors, requiring a tighter guard. Hence why Law had chosen the time.

His fingers scrapped over nooks in the bookcases. No, had there been some secret passage he would have already located it during his perusal of the texts inside the library. He ran over to Crocodile's desk and sifted quickly through everything on top, then quickly checked what lay in the drawers and underneath. No clues whatsoever, only he noticed that there was an unusually excessive amount of dirt on the laminate floor, signifying where in the room Crocodile spent the majority of his time.

Law dropped a paper containing information on Alabasta Desert, what kind of ores it contained and the minerals that could be excavated from them. His frustration was mounting. He stuffed his hands into his pockets where everything of value to him had been placed. Coins, someone's silver necklace, and a plethora of other relatively useless articles that may or may not hold value in the 'real' world filled his pockets and he sifted through them with the tips of his fingers. Though the majority of the items were stolen and stockpiled under his bed in one of the boy's dorms for the past few years, they brought him great comfort.

He circled the room twice with his hands stuffed inside of his pants, searching the wall for some trace of the abnormal. There was nothing. He'd been so, so wrong. And now Bepo would also fall prey to this trap he'd sprung on himself. He slumped against a wall and placed a palm over his left temple. It stung and throbbed with its own separate pulse, but nothing could contend with the rapid beating of his heart.

Then he noticed it, staring out vacantly at the room. The bizarrely out of place circle of dirt that seemed thicker in that one area than every other place in the room, not including the underside of the desk.

With his interest piqued, Law padded over and peered down, wondering what the significance of this dark patch was. His mind told him it was nothing, but his gut didn't allow him to pass it off as just a bunch of dirt.

He walked around it, trying to think. Naturally, his mind strayed to thoughts of what he would say to Crocodile when he returned to find him and Bepo standing in the middle of the room, one not supposed to be there at all and the other having freshly lied to his face.

With tears threatening to invade the corners of his eyes, Law stretched his head back and sucked in a deep breath of stale air. He blinked his tears away, willing himself to be braver than he felt so he could come up with something good to say about why Bepo had little to do with anything.

His eyes caught an outline in the ceiling that didn't match the rest of the dark beige paint, rectangular in shape and being the only thing so far to catch his attention besides the dirty floor.

He studied it, his eyebrows knitting together. Then his mouth parted slightly. He was in the deepest part of the building, well below ground level. Why hadn't he thought of going straight up?

The thought of finding stairs through a hidden door off of the library had been what his mind had fixated on, and the idea of going straight up through the ceiling hadn't once crossed him as a viable escape plan. Now though, he searched Crocodile's desk with the intent of finding another clue.

He slung all of the papers onto the ground, all of the pens and old dishware that Crocodile had amassed down in his crypt. Glass smashed and plastic pens bounced, and the papers made a whooshing sound as they scattered all over the dirty floor. There was nothing under them but a dusty surface which he marked with his fingerprints, so he turned once again to the drawers in the desk, this time taking out everything regardless of what it appeared to be.

His hand passed over something heavy that refused to budge as if it were affixed to the inside of the drawer. He clawed at the box shape, bending into a crouch and placing his eye at an angle to see into the dark drawer.

There was nothing more out of place in the room than what lay in this drawer. His fingers poked and prodded it, and something under his index and middle finger gave way and beeped softly.

He jumped when the ceiling shook and he instantly remembered reading about earthquakes in a book once, and how when involved in one the best thing to do was to get under something and out of the way of falling debris. Only, he didn't have any intention of crawling under Crocodile's desk and hiding. No, he leapt up and faced the earthquake head on.

He wasn't sure what he had been hoping for, but to see his stairway to heaven fall short of the ground placed a pit of disappointment deep in his stomach. The structure was metal, and it was clear that it folded down right to the floor, but what was even more clear was that it was a two-step process, and Law didn't think he'd be able to move past step one.

His eyes glued themselves to the chain dangling from the bottommost part of the staircase. In his mind's eye he saw Crocodile easily reaching above his head to pull it down and exiting his chamber with ease. Then his imagination put him in the same situation, only he was jumping for the chain with his fingertips missing by a hair's breadth.

Regardless, he pushed forward, running over to the stairs that came out of the ceiling and looking up at their suspended bulk. From the ground he could see the metal latch that had doubtlessly released with the aid of the button on the electronic box hidden away in Crocodile's desk. He stretched an arm out above his head and stood on the tips of his toes. As he already knew, he didn't come close to reaching the chain. He jumped a few times, testing to make completely sure of his inadequate height.

Determined not to be defeated by a mere lack of a few inches, Law searched the room for something to stand on. The chair Crocodile always sat in was the first object to catch his interest, but practicality dismissed it. The chair was an outrageously heavy leather model, an armchair that was meant to stay in one spot for a long period of time, which it had certainly already accomplished if the dust and wear was anything to judge by.

He looked to the next best thing – his paper friends, the books.

Stacking a bunch of them was easy and quick. He had six thick volumes, textbooks on mining and other engineering things he had little interest in, put into place before too long. He stood on top of them gingerly, and reached up. Then he jumped and found he would need another two texts at the very least. So he got two more, stacked them precisely, and tried scramble on top only to find it awkward and hard to get the books to remain in place. So he grabbed more, and made his own little stair to help him get onto his book block.

The chain above felt frigid in his grip, and he tugged on it as hard as he could. He could feel some kind of mechanism trying to give, but he did not possess Crocodile's thickly muscled arms. He grasped the chain with both hands and shoved of the book stack to use his full weight, which was slight, but thankfully enough.

The stairway creaked down with more noise than Law was prepared for and the moment his feet touched the ground he threw himself out of the path of the falling metal joints. The loud crack it made against the hard floor rung in his ears many times as he got back up off his knees.

He beheld the fallen structure with bewilderment, hearing the room send a high-pitched echo ricocheting around the room and, likely, down the hallway.

Instinctively, he spun on his heel and faced the door, expecting the noise to attract Crocodile back into his chambers. His heart began raced with renewed vigor, and he put one foot on the first steel step to test it. Somehow, looking up into the dark hole in the ceiling above and with one foot on the stair, he felt for the first time that maybe what he was doing was foolish.

He wrapped his fingers around the railing that had come down with the stairs and turned back to the door, expectant. Enough minutes had passed by now. _Someone_ should have arrived.

Where was Bepo? He was supposed to be in the library with him at this point. Law had calculated everything there was to calculate, exactly the number of wide strides it took to go from the hallway to the library, the time in minutes, and even hypothesized how long it would take an angry Crocodile to get from his library to Mr. 1 at the front entrance. There was no way he was lacking in calculations. The numbers spun around in his head, reassuring him. Had something happened then, to give reason for this delay? He grit his teeth as he conjured up a dozen scenarios easily, each one ending with no chance of escape.

A horrible thought passed him by. Should he leave Bepo behind and go on without him? There was really little chance that he could break him out at a later date by himself, but maybe he'd be able to get someone from the outside to help him?

The thought seemed ludicrous given that he had nothing to offer anyone for their assistance except for a few cents in his pockets and a broken silver necklace.

His face flushed as a wave of panic settled in. He had come close to feeling something akin to panic earlier, but it had been tucked away while his brain was working hard to figure out Crocodile's usual getaway route to the outside world. Now, waiting for Bepo to come, he realized there was really nothing he could do to put the odds further in their favour except wait.

Or leave. That was still an option, though he didn't even want to consider it until he knew for sure whether or not Bepo was coming. Had Bepo chickened out on him? Was he waiting only for Crocodile's return?

No, Bepo wouldn't do that. They'd both sworn to see Law's plan through, and Law knew Bepo would rather bear the damage wrought by a furious Mr. 1 than lose the trust of his only friend.

Suddenly, his heart swelled with relief. He could hear footsteps rushing towards the room. He tensed on the stairwell, getting ready to bolt up the metal steps to freedom. All that he needed to do before that was send a quick signal to Bepo to follow his lead.

He grinned and took another step, keeping his eyes trained on the closed door. He had no doubt that Bepo would open the heavy door easily.

Sure enough, the door opened without a hitch. So perfectly, in fact, that before Law saw who was on the other side a part of him already knew, and his feet did not freeze in place but rather they began to move up the stairwell.

He didn't dare glance over his shoulder as he took the steps faster than he thought he'd be able to, as he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach the livid expression contorting Crocodile's face.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> It can only go downhill from here. Sorry guys, it's been hectic these days and updates (especially for this story) will be sporadic at best.

So, Law's flashback will likely last a half chapter and then we'll be back to the present (YAY!) and hopefully Kidd (double YAY!) With all hope, right?


	12. Twelfth Trauma

**A.N.: Warnings for this chapter include: **violence that will not be too graphic, but rather what is implied is not at all pretty.

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Twelve – Twelfth Trauma_

* * *

><p>Law made the mistake of looking over his shoulder, just once, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks near the top of the stairway. Bepo. Crocodile had Bepo by the scruff of his neck. He had him in his one good hand and was dragging him into the room, and Bepo wasn't even fighting back, just looking scared out of his mind with tears rolling down his pale face.<p>

Bepo stared wide-eyed up at him, and Law could see he was mouthing one word continuously. _Run. Run, run, run–_

_No, _Law mouthed back to him. _No, no, no!_

"I'm surprised you had enough daring in you to trick me, Pet," Crocodile growled. He held Bepo out at arm's length, and though Bepo was big for his age, he had nothing yet on Crocodile's intimidating physique. Plus, Bepo was too frightened to struggle, that much Law understood just by seeing him shake. "Mr. 1 is not very enthused by your lying, and I sent him to make sure you didn't route your escape out the front door, but this one," he shook Bepo by the scruff of his neck, causing him to yelp and sprout fresh tears, "this one decided to try and stop me from returning to you. I knew you were going to try to escape some day, Pet."

Law swallowed thickly, willing himself not to sink to his knees, as they were trembling enough to give out at any second.

"I could see it in your eyes, Pet" Crocodile continued. "Your eyes are _wild_."

Before he could ponder his next words in his mind and let his fear grip and twist them, Law spoke. "Let him go. Let Bepo go. He had nothing to do with it. It was all my idea. He wasn't even going to escape with me. He wanted to stay here."

Crocodile raised a dark eyebrow and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not inclined to believe anything you say. Come down from those stairs. Or do you want your friend dead at the bottom of them?"

"No!" Law shouted as Bepo was tossed towards him, landing near the stairway but yet so far from it still. "_Bepo_!"

Law didn't understand, not even as Bepo picked himself up in a flash and bolted up those stairs while Crocodile just stood there seething. He didn't understand as Bepo embraced him and took him by the hand. He didn't understand as they climbed to the very top, went over the very last step, and finally reached the top. He only understood when he saw the door and the gleaming gold keyhole with the exact same evil tint that his earrings were.

"_Oh_," he breathed. "Oh, _no_."

Bepo threw himself at the door, clawing at the doorknob like some sort of caged animal, and Law simply stood there in disbelief. All of what lay in his pockets, all the shiny trinkets and coins were useless. All he needed was a little golden key, and Crocodile held it in his hand, holding it up as if to offer it to Law.

Slowly, Law slunk down to the floor, blinking at what lay below. Their freedom would forever be stifled by what was grasped so firmly in Crocodile's one good hand. The hand that had caressed Law and affectionately petted him.

"I'll have to punish you _severely_, Pet," Crocodile was saying. "Come down here, and bring your friend."

"B-Bepo has nothing to do with this," Law repeated. "_Please_, just let him go."

"You're in no place to be bargaining with me. Don't think I can't just come up there and get you both."

Bepo made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat and grabbed for Law's upper arm. Law could feel Bepo shaking against his skin, which had become slicked with a chilly sweat. His pores were reacting to his fear, but the temperature of the Baroque would ensure that his skin would not dry easily should they manage to escape the library.

"Well?"

"Don't punish Bepo!" Law had truly and unselfishly pleaded for nothing in his life yet, and in that moment the words flew out he lost that virginity. His pride, should he even dare to have any to begin with, was also abandoned, given up as an orphan much like Law himself had been.

"_Please! _I'll take his punishment!"

The hand grasping his arm tightened with Bepo's revulsion. "_Law!_"

Said boy expected Crocodile to laugh at him or disregard his request completely. He did not expect the thoughtful gaze that was directed up at him, nor the way Crocodile's eyes suddenly seemed a tad brighter than their usual characteristic dimness. "Really now?" Crocodile asked, his tone giving nothing away.

"Yes," Law affirmed, ignoring the frantic whispers in his ear that he needn't do such a thing. Law tried his best to block out Bepo and keep a calm face. It was difficult, but somehow Bepo's fear gave him strength that he didn't know he could call upon.

Slowly Crocodile turned and opened the door behind him, a shaft of light from the hallway beckoning to the boys to pursue it. Their only way out of the library, with Crocodile making it seem more and more appealing with every second that ticked past. They watched as the man leisurely walked to his leather chair and sunk into it. He crossed one leg over the other and linked his fingers together, and Law noted his back was stiff.

He knew Crocodile was angry. He only ever sat that particular way when some business arrangement had fallen through or something equally disastrous to his industry had occurred. Law had spent enough time with the man to know the stance he took when angered. However, he never could figure out the depth of Crocodile's anger.

This time was no exception.

"Come here, _Pet_."

Law went.

At first Bepo struggled as Law took his hand and started down the stairs. But, after a few stumbled steps, Bepo simply treaded along quietly behind him, his eyes alternating between the phantom figure that was Crocodile and the open door, their only avenue of escape. They trudged down to the bottom, where Bepo hesitated and Law let go of his hand in order to push his friend in the side.

"Go," he instructed cruelly.

"I don't want to leave you," Bepo mumbled, voice wavering.

"I'll never forgive you if you don't leave right now." His reply was terse and the accompanying shove in Bepo's side was sharp, causing his friend to stagger forward. Crocodile looked on, his ears hearing every word with little amusement forming in the creases of his premature wrinkles. Law feared it was only a matter of seconds before Crocodile decided to revoke this opportunity for escape. For one of them.

"Go," he pleaded, urgently pushing with the palms of his hands against a stubborn back that refused to budge easily. "_Go_."

Bepo looked back at him with such anguish as he walked to the doorway, his eyes watering. He hesitated with each step he took that put distance between them, and their conversation continued in a silent exchange.

_Run._

_No. Just go!_

_Please run, Law. __**Please**__._

_I can't. Not now._

With a lingering stare, Bepo stepped through the threshold, and it occurred to Law that it was quite possible that he'd never see Bepo again. It was not unheard of for someone to vanish, even one of the children. He hadn't given it much thought before now, he had just figured that they'd either found a means of escape or someone decided to toss them out on the streets to starve. He had never considered that they might have just simply been disposed of.

Bepo suddenly stopped stepping backwards and glanced at Crocodile, who leaned forward in his chair with some measured degree of anticipation.

"Close the door after you," the man ordered, his voice so unbelievably cold that it rivaled the sweat that clung to Law's body. Law nodded solemnly when Bepo gave him his last pleading look, his bottom lip trembling uncontrollably.

_I won't forgive you if you don't go._

He found himself alone with Crocodile at last. The clicking of the door locking into place on its hinges was an empty sound, much like the emptiness he felt in his heart when Crocodile was near.

Without Bepo's presence, all of his strength was sapped from his limbs instantaneously. His shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped, sliding down as they filled with a torrent of unshed tears.

He was terrified.

"Come here, Pet."

He slinked towards Crocodile, feeling that if he had a tail it would be curved all the way under him and peeking out his front. As it was, his hands shook, and he didn't dare to hide them in his pockets. He didn't want to feel the coinage and the other small items he'd hoarded, not when they would be discovered the moment Crocodile yanked his hands free.

Obediently, he drew up to Crocodile's side and awaited further instruction. Croc glared openly at him now that they were alone, his brow deeply furrowed with disappointment. Then he patted his thigh. Like a lapdog, Law took his place.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he tried to figure out just what Crocodile could dole out for punishment. He'd been spanked by the man before, and he could distinctly remember a time when Crocodile had hit him on the cheek for back-talking him. His cheek began to twitch with the memory. In fact, all the places where he'd once been struck by the man whose hand moved to grasp his waist spasmed.

The fingers on the man's good hand turned to claws and then to razor sharp teeth, imprinting his skin and causing him to feel trapped in the jaws of a crocodile. They were crushing him, slowly breaking every bone in his body. He felt like he was suffocating, but Crocodile had yet to actually hurt him. He didn't dare move. He had already taken two sets of punishment; he couldn't afford to take another.

"I don't have any use for disobedient boys, Law."

His eyes widened. It was rare that Crocodile used his name, his _real_ name. His heart fluttered weakly.

"Defiance is the worst sin you could commit in your position. You defied my teachings, Law."

Crocodile's fingers left his side and delved into the pockets of his sweater. Law felt his already pale face become even more ashen, all of his blood retreating from the sight of this scaly reptile.

Crocodile withdrew his hand laden with trinkets and threw them away, not even looking to see what he'd grasped.

"Lying, stealing, fighting, hoarding…plotting to get away from the only man that will ever love you like this. What an ungrateful child you are, Law."

The gold hook danced across his back and Law flinched as it snagged on his sweater.

"You don't seem ready to repent," Crocodile mused. Law blinked and bowed his head. He was ready to repent, why couldn't Crocodile see that he was sorry? He had been defeated. He had been wrong to think he could have outsmarted the man.

He let out a strangled whimper as Crocodile's hand encircled his stomach and lifted him from his lap. Then he got to his feet and began to walk, carrying Law like a small animal that needed to be tossed outside. He watched the dirty floor go by beneath him, the collar of his sweater riding up and choking air out of his lungs. Crocodile was leaving his library, and when they passed through the door Law searched the corridor for Bepo, half hoping to see him and half hoping Bepo had run away. The hall was empty, and he felt a pang in his gut knowing he was truly alone.

He didn't recognize their path when Crocodile turned left and entered into a door Law hadn't dared pass through on his ventures down into the Baroque's labyrinth. The floor continued to sweep by beneath him, and only when they went through a heavy door at the end of the hall and the temperature shifted so that Law's overheated skin froze did Law begin to struggle. He hadn't remembered the hallway, but he knew their destination.

"Remember this place, Law?"

He did. He knew every contour of every stone that lined the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He had spent what felt to him like days huddled in the farthest corner of the room, watching the back of the wooden door and awaiting its opening. Concrete. This concrete room underground petrified him. His body went rigid and only his mouth was able to move, to plead once more.

"P-Please don't leave me in the cellar again!"

He received no answer as he was hefted onto a wooden table. That had never been there before. The wood was solid against his back. Croc's hand was solid against his front. He couldn't budge as a dim lamp overhead was switched on and his eyes were momentarily blinded. The hand on his chest disappeared but fear held him captivated, and soon it was replaced with more pressure than before. When his eyes cleared, he saw something that he'd never seen decorating Crocodile's stump of an wrist.

The gold hook, it was gone. In its place was a ghastly silver blade-like hook that gleamed maliciously down at him. He squinted at it, ran his eyes over the purplish plating of the blade, and tried to scream only to find himself incapable of doing so.

He wasn't naïve enough to be oblivious to what Crocodile could do with it.

"You're _too_ perfect, Law. I know how you think. You've always thought yourself above others, haven't you? Because _I_ picked you out of a crowd of others. Now I think you ought to know what it's like to be marked, _permanently_, and be ranked far below everyone else. So far below that nobody will ever want you."

His last glimpse of Crocodile's face showed him bared teeth and cold eyes. Then he was flipped onto his stomach, and Crocodile's callous hand slipped under his sweatshirt, his nails scratching along his spine. His sweatshirt was lifted, up and over his head, and with the fabric Law's whimpers were muffled. Crocodile held him down with it, his arms utterly useless and trapped within the tangled cloth.

He began to try his best to thrash, but the chilly kiss of metal froze his blood. He could feel it, the blunt side of Crocodile's silver hook, trailing a line down his spine. It didn't puncture his skin. Some numbed part of him counted the invisible lines that Crocodile drew down his back. Seven. Seven times before the man spoke, his voice raspy and thick with anger.

"These scars will grow with you, Law…"

And the blade turned and dove deep, forever marking him.

* * *

><p>When he ran from the Pink Flamingo after he changed into his street clothes, he hadn't realized where it was he was headed. Now, standing outside the decrepit apartment building where he lived with his friends, Law let himself keel over in the shadow of a dumpster to regain his breath. As he bent over, his back tightened, and quickly he straightened, remembering the hours he spent in a dilapidated hospital looked after by a rather quack doctor.<p>

People had tried to tell him what had happened after he'd passed out and found himself in a white room with a hairy old guy standing over his bed, but he hadn't believed them. How could he believe anyone? How could he trust strangers to give him memories? Yet, there was someone he believed in a heartbeat, someone who told him the truth after months of trying to forget it.

Bepo. Bepo had told him what he'd done after he'd left Crocodile's library. He had done what Law thought impossible for him to do alone. He had escaped. Found help. Brought them back. There had been a police raid that night. Croc and is closest subordinates had fled.

Then he had discovered Law, and for the months following that night he immersed himself in Dr. Hiluluk's post trauma treatment, which may or may not have done more harm than good. Law was unsure. All he knew was that someone had appeared in their lives and helped them both, stitched up his back and made him sit on his stomach for days and days with Bepo vigilantly watching over him, well fed for once.

He recovered. Bepo never did.

With a heavy sigh he wrapped his arms around himself and looked up at the dark window of their apartment. He could tell nobody was home at the moment, and the idea of slinking into an empty bed and having nightmares did not appeal to him. So he stayed outside, and wondered idly what he ought to do next.

He couldn't go back to dancing. That was out of the question. He was done with that scene. He leaned back against a building and the youthful face of one shy boy popped into his mind.

Chopper. Whatever had happened to that kid? He was Dr. Hiluluk's first adoptive son, and he and Bepo were second and third, though neither of them thought of themselves as _sons_. It wasn't a term they knew, no matter how Chopper tried to make it sound appealing. That kid had also explained the adoption process to them, and they had refused it. Or, rather, Law had refused it. Bepo had merely followed his lead, like he always had.

He wondered briefly if Chopper had made it to medical school, or whether he was still too young for that. When Dr. Hiluluk died, which had been years ago, Law and Bepo were teenagers while he was still a bright-eyed kid. The boy had wanted to be a doctor, and after having his life saved by one Law found the idea appealing, too.

But he couldn't do what Chopper had been required by law to do, which was to be adopted once again by another. A family friend of Dr. Hiluluk offered them a place in her home, too, but he and Bepo were already itching to leave.

So they disappeared, and that had been that. He never saw Chopper again. Still, for what it was worth the boy had touched him with the light that he'd sorely needed to illuminate his darkness. They'd had more in common than he first thought, as it took an orphan to understand another orphan, and he'd learned that what he'd been subjected to was horrific beyond the comprehension of normal people.

For that, he'd been glad. There was light in the world; he just had to seek it out.

He slumped down onto the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees. It occurred to him that he had not been doing a very good job of seeking the light. He had escaped an illegal poorhouse and put Bepo and him back into danger on the streets. Then he'd regressed back to his old ways. The stealing and the lying. There were numerous other things he'd done that were worse, but his most recent worst decision was following the pink flamingo down into Hell.

He rested his chin between his knees. It was over, though. He was never going back. It had been a few months since his last attempt to apply for a loan from the bank. Maybe he'd get through this time. In the meantime, he could try to get hired on in Bepo's field as some sort of construction person.

He tried to imagine himself doing something in that field. All he could see himself being was a flagman, and the pole with the sign on top he'd have to hold all day didn't seem so different from the pole he'd been hanging onto before.

Law grimaced and got to his feet, brushing himself off. Other nagging thoughts were swamping his mind now. Thoughts about how he'd been so close to being the whore of a rich man and how he'd tossed that option into the garbage as well. He really shouldn't have run. But, he couldn't help himself. Running was how he solved most of his problems. Time and time again, he ran away.

He couldn't tell the time, but the night was still young. Bepo would likely be home any time now, and Penguin and Shachi would be away this evening working the night shift at their respective low-wage jobs. If there was one thing he refused to do, it was tell them about his and Bepo's past. He didn't want to burden them. So he never spoke of nightmares he had to them, only Bepo. And, right now, he needed to speak to Bepo alone.

Headlights along the road drifted by, causing him to instinctively pull his hood down over his head. He watched the car creep along the road and disappear. Then, it was back. His brow furrowed. This was a poor neighbourhood, filled with junkies but not inhabited by the richer drug dealers. Mugging someone here was stupid, but he didn't take his chances and disappeared around the side of his apartment building.

He wasn't particularly fearful, even as he heard a car door slam and the engine to the car cut out. There were cars around occasionally, it was just uncommon. Law knew there were a couple of prostitutes living in the building. In fact, he'd had friendly conversations with them after one of them came on to him only to be assured that he was, indeed, too gay and broke to have her services.

So he wasn't worried. Only when he stepped back from his apartment building and looked up at the sky to see if the moon was hidden behind clouds did he freeze. The only window in Bepo's apartment was lit up. There was no mistaking that window for someone else's. Someone was in his kitchen.

With his throat constricted, Law stalked out of the darkness and around to the front of his building. There was a car parked in front next to the crumbled away remains of the curb. The car's internal lights were off and there appeared to be no one inside, but Law would take no chances. He stood far away from the dim light of the streetlamps, unmoving.

He wondered if he ought to call the police from a payphone, but he didn't have any change in his pockets. Nor did he particularly know what he would say to the operator. He didn't know who was up there. What if it was only Penguin or Shachi or Bepo, and the car was there by coincidence?

His gut told him it was no coincidence.

The anger he felt simmering beneath his skin made him march up to the car. He peered in through the windows, but it was impossible to see inside as they were tinted and the car had been parked away from any light. He had Bepo's old switchblade with him and he would have slashed the tires, all of them, but before he could withdraw it from his back pocket he noticed that there was no glow on the side of the building where the window faced north. It was dark again.

He slunk away to a safer hiding place. There was nothing of value in the apartment to be stolen, save for his box of money. But he was confident in his ability to squirrel things away. Still, he debated jumping the next person to leave the building.

He just hoped it wouldn't be one of those poor prostitutes.

With a satisfied grin under his hood he drew his knife and waited. It would take half a minute to walk from the door of the building to the car, and he estimated that he could be in front of that car in half the time if he ran for a confrontation.

He waited and was soon rewarded for his patience.

Except now he was not so sure jumping this shadowy figure was a good idea. The figure was male, freakishly tall, and wide not just in the shoulders. He felt petty looking at him as he made his way back to his car.

Law began to reason with himself that the man could be a drug dealer. But then again, those prostitutes had told him they weren't into snorting substances. So, the robbery theory remained rooted in his mind.

His scars itched and he longed to be able to scratch them. He flipped his knife closed and resigned whatever had been looted from his apartment as lost, and reached towards his back. But, as he continued to stare and watched the man walk off, he noticed a certain detail that he wouldn't have noticed unless he had seen it before. That heavy gait. It was familiar to him.

He dropped his hands to his sides and waited until the car had disappeared, and only then did he dash upstairs to his apartment. The key to get into the building itself he used, but when he got to his floor and stood outside the door to his apartment he didn't even bother with the key, he just turned the handle. As he suspected and feared, the door opened for him. The lock had been picked.

He was cautious as he entered. The rooms were dark and he didn't dare to flip a light switch until he was absolutely certain there was no one else in the apartment with him. Then he locked the door and turned on all the lights, every single one, and tried to figure out what was amiss.

The place was a mess like always.

He glared at everything as if it had been tampered with, but the reality was that nothing had been touched. There were still unwashed dishes littering the counter and piled in the sink. Bepo's bedroom was still a disaster zone, with dirty clothes strewn all over the floor and the bed unkempt. The couch and den area was still covered with traces of Penguin and Shachi, their clothes, their empty pizza boxes…

He frowned and went for the bathroom. Nothing was missing or moved. He even took out his box of cash and counted through it meticulously. Every bill was present.

He kept the contents of the box with him in his pockets as he went through the apartment a second time. He was not at all at ease. In fact, the floor looked a bit more scuffed up than usual, dirter somehow, and that unsettled him. Bepo occasionally didn't bother to take off his working boots, and they certainly left marks on the tile floor, but he hadn't done that for a while and Law was convinced the dirt he saw gathering in the cracks was fresh.

He frowned and returned to the kitchen, looking out the window into the dark night, thoroughly puzzled. A splotchy white reflection on the glass caught his eye and he looked down to see something he'd not seen before.

A letter.

He turned it over in his hands to see if it was a bill or something of the sort, but there was no address on it and it hadn't even been opened yet.

His pounded against his ribcage.

Law tore it apart and took the note out. The paper was a sallow yellow, and when he saw the handwriting his heart lurched. He began reading, his eyes skimming the headline.

'_Hello, Pet.'_

The note slipped from his hand onto the counter and he put his hands over his mouth, his breath strangled from his lungs. He forced himself to look down, to keep reading. The note had fallen flat and he knew he wouldn't be able to run away and leave it there. He couldn't run from _this_. He forced his eyes down.

'_I didn't think I'd find you. It turned out Doflamingo had been keeping your presence from me for a while. But I know where you are now. Isn't that a relief, Pet? You know I like to keep my conversations short and sweet, but I think I owe you an explanation. _

_I let you go after the raid. I thought you were quite useless to me, but perhaps that was because I'd not seen you for years, or heard of you. I'd abandoned you with the rest of your pathetic lot. But now, I think you could be quite useful to me. See, I imagine Doflamingo has informed you that I have a bone to pick with a certain Eustass, of whom you are __intimatel__y familiar with, and I believed you could make an excellent diversion for the man…_

_Notice the past tense? My minions were supposed to nab you, but they have failed me. They took the tiniest detail from my description of you, as a boy with dark hair, and kidnapped a completely different boy with equally dark hair, the idiots._

_Though I'm sure you and Ace are quite friendly with one another. He keeps threatening to rip my head off if I don't tell him where I'm keeping you. He's an easy one to anger. We'll see what makes him crack and lose it completely. _

_Are you mad, Pet? Do you want to ensure this Ace boy stays alive? That he doesn't suffer how you've suffered by my hand? Or lack thereof?_

_I know you do, because I know you well, and you were always the compassionate type beneath that emotionless face. So come. Come back to me. Tomorrow an unmarked black car will wait for you outside of your apartment. Get in it, and don't tell anyone._

_Because if you don't get in that car, I'll make sure to send a more capable lot to come get you. And they won't be nice to you or the boys you have living with you.'_

It had no name attached and it didn't need one. Law knew who'd penned it. Hell, he knew now who'd delivered it. That walk…it had not been Crocodile, but Mr. 1 who was here. His boots had scuffed the floor.

Bepo…where was Bepo?

Law snatched the note up off the counter. It was revolting in his hands, and he made to rip it. The sound of paper being torn brought out of him an anguished cry and he looked at the two halves of the paper. He was going to rip it into quarters, then eighths and finally sixteenths, and then he would burn the shreds on the stove.

He wasn't able to do so, as the loud knock on the door stilled his nimble fingers.

Mr. 1 was back.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> So sorry this wasn't up sooner! I hit a bad block, well, more like a brick wall that needed to be climbed over.

Kidd: "What the hell? I thought I was going to be in this chapter!"

*Shoves Kidd back into a closet* Ahem. Kidd's not here at the moment. He'll be around next chapter, with all hope.

Also, a big thanks goes out to everyone who was kind enough to leave a review – you guys made climbing the brick wall a little easier on me.


	13. Thirteenth Trigger

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Thirteen – Thirteenth Trigger_

* * *

><p>The knocks reverberated in his chest. Louder and more frequent, and yet Law stood unmoving. He didn't dare say a thing, didn't even allow himself to breath deeply for fear that somehow the person on the other side of the door would hear him.<p>

His heart lurched at the thought of Mr. 1 breaking down the door. The knocks were growing more frantic, more desperate.

"Bepo! Wake up you big bear and get the goddamn door! _Bepo!_"

Law's shoulders slumped. What? Bepo?

"Bepo, let me in!"

"Shachi?" Law cried. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to get in!" Shachi called through the wood. "Forgot my key somewhere and I'm locked out!"

Law blinked rapidly as his heart rate went down. Then he realized something that made him flush fretfully as he reached the door. "The door should be open…"

He heard the knob turning, but the door was not yielding. "Yeah, well, it's not!"

He breathed out a heavy sigh. Somehow he'd instinctively locked the door after coming inside. It was oddly soothing to know that he still had some sense, even under pressure, to keep his apartment locked. His mind wandered and he imagined Mr. 1 waltzing right on in with no lock to hinder him.

He flipped the lock from the inside and let Shachi in before he combusted into a fiery mess in the hallway. He barely managed to get out of the way of the young man, whose shoulders were slumped and whose hands were hovering down south over his crotch.

"Holy shit, I have to piss _real bad_," Shachi said as he stumbled down the hallway and into the bathroom. Law made a face. Shachi never closed the damn door. He was not about to walk down there anytime soon.

He locked the door again and quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets where the letter that he'd ripped in two was currently residing with his savings. He pushed the rumpled papers and bills down as far as they would go when Shachi reappeared again, looking mighty refreshed.

"What are you doing home so early? I thought you were on the night shift…" Law mumbled, his voice wavering slightly. Shachi arched an eyebrow at him and pulled off his hat to run a hand through his unruly hair.

"Oh boy. Well, uh, don't tell Penguin but I got kind of fired for dropping an open box full of melons and making this huge ass mess in the storage room. It was, like, my third strike so I'm out. Man, I hated being an overnight stocker anyway. I am _not _the kind of man who works in a grocery store at night. It's so fucking creepy. Watermelons begin to look like people's heads and eggs sometimes drop unexpectedly from the sky and then there's the butcher shop in the back…just yeah. Creepy shit."

Law's mouth quirked. "You got fired for dropping _melons_?"

Shachi looked the other way. "Well, you know, round stuff rolls. They kind of…crashed into…_everything_. It was really bad, Law, I don't even want to talk about it yet."

Law shook his head. Penguin was going to flip their couch when he heard this story. Of course, Law refused to be the one to tell him.

"Think you can get me in at Galdino's?"

"Um, probably not. He already hired one fuck-up; he's not going to want another for some time."

Shachi blinked at him, then smirked. "You?"

"No, Ace! Fuck you, Shachi. I am perfectly competent."

Shachi made a snorting noise and headed for the fridge, pulling out two beers. He saw Law eying him with a strange look, with wider eyes that were more hollow than usual, and said, "Neither of these are for you. I'm drowning myself in grief tonight, okay?"

"I don't like drinking much anyway," Law muttered, casting his eyes on the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"Something's eating you," Shachi stated.

Law's mouth twitched and he could swear the paper in his pocket was beginning to burn a hole through his sweater. "It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me. I told you about the fuckin' melons. Man, whatever shit you've got can't be half as bad as that."

Once more, Law's mouth twitched. "How are you gonna help pay rent this month?"

"What?"

"I asked how you're going to come up with your share. And the rest of the bills. Now that you've lost your job and all."

Shachi's eyes hardened and his back became rigid. "Hey, I'll get another damn job. Or two, or whatever, to get the money. No big deal. There are always jobs for labourers. I just…"

Law felt his cheeks darken. He couldn't do it. There wasn't an easy way to clear Shachi from the apartment. He didn't even know why he was trying this route. He supposed it was the fried nerves.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Shachi put the beers on the counter and leaned against the fridge, scrutinizing his friend. They hadn't known each other long, only a few years, but Shachi had taken an instant liking to him after they'd met as coworkers at some questionable meatpacking factory. Before Shachi got fired and Law quit and moved on to work for Galdino.

"Something's definitely eating you. Eating you _alive_. Dude, what's your problem?" There was the raised eyebrow again, and Law knew he couldn't hold out for long. Shachi would force something out of him, whether it be lie or truth. He had met Penguin through Shachi's often forceful shenanigans. He hadn't really wanted to get to know Shachi or his friends when they'd first met, but Shachi had dragged him along to a shitty party and introduced him to Penguin. Penguin he actually liked right away, mostly because he was the only one at that party not ludicrously drunk and barfing all over his shoes. Shachi…he eventually warmed to.

"If you don't spill the metaphorical beans I'm going to come over there and eat _you_."

"That's a dumb threat," Law said. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and spread his arms wide, which in hindsight was an idiotic move. "Eat me then."

"Okay."

Shachi charged and enveloped him in a hug, and before Law knew quite what was going on, Shachi licked his cheek. And what a long, wet, _utterly disgusting _lick it was.

"Fuckin' asshole you–_what the hell are you doing_?!"

"I'll lick your ear, no, I'll like_ inside _your ear if you don't tell me!" Shachi declared with all the glee of a five-year old handed a bowl of ice cream.

He kneed Shachi in the gut and was instantly released.

"Ow! Jeez, you're such an animal, Law!"

"Just remember that could have been south of the border," Law said as he wiped his cheek on the sleeve of his sweater. Shachi's saliva was not coming off easily. It really _was _nasty.

"I still want to know. You tell Bepo everything but you don't say nuthin' to me an' Pen. We both know you dance at that strip club. I just…_we_ just hope you're not, you know, selling favours an' stuff in addition to that."

Images of red hair and a crooked smile filled his mind. He pushed thoughts of a certain good-looking gazillionaire away. He did not need to think of Mr. Megabucks right now. "I don't…I don't prostitute myself, if that's what you're asking." He wasn't sure if Shachi believed him or not, and he didn't want the humiliation of being called on this particular half-lie, half-truth. So he circled around to what Shachi initially wanted. "That's kind of the problem, though. I mean, I'm not going to dance there anymore. Screw the contract and shit."

Relief crossed Shachi's face. "Really? I mean, that's great. Really great. Like you don't even know how great."

Law looked away, out the kitchen window. "Great, huh. Only that was a major source of income for me. Because of it I can start saving for…you know. My dream."

"I can find you a second job if ya _really_ need one. Besides, now we don't have to worry about you. You know how worried about people Bepo gets. Maybe he'll be less stressed now that you're not working during the night."

Law grunted and began to fill the sink behind him with water and dish soap. He needed something to do with his hands, some sort of distraction. He figured Shachi would leave the scene as soon as he began indicating that there was housework to be done, but he didn't feel Shachi's presence slip away. Rather, it came closer.

He felt Shachi's chin on his shoulder and shut off the faucet, defeated.

"You didn't tell me the real problem, did you?"

His nerves flared and he exploded. "Look, Shachi, I pissed some people off. Real bad. They're not happy. They're coming here. I want you to take Pen and Bepo and get out of here for a while. It's not safe to stay here."

"What do you mean?" Shachi asked softly. He withdrew his chin from Law's shoulder and straightened, grabbing Law by one of his elbows and turning him around to face him. "Jeez Law, you're not... doin' drugs, are you? Shit, what are these guys, dealers? Hey I don't care who they are; we can always fight 'em off. Right law? Right?"

"No, they...these people will kill you, Shachi."

Shachi opened and closed his mouth, momentarily speechless. The look on Law's face was one he'd never seen before, and he couldn't tell what was going through Law's mind. Finally he asked, "Do they have guns?"

Laws eyes narrowed and he nodded curtly.

A second passed in silence and Shachi burst out laughing. When he finally stopped he cried, "Law, don't pull this kind of shit on me until I've ingested at least five beers!"

"I'm serious."

Shachi froze. Law…was actually serious. "Holy shit."

"Yeah. Holy shit."

"You're not pulling my pigtails here?"

"No."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Shachi leaned against the counter, feeling a bit light-headed. "So, let me get this straight. Some assholes are going to come here and kill us, and it doesn't have anything to do with drugs?"

"That's correct," said Law quietly, leaning against the counter next to his friend. Shachi's eyes were still swimming in a sea of confusion.

"Holy shit."

"Stop saying that!" Law cried, aghast that Shachi was so utterly overwhelmed. It was making him feel increasingly nervous. "Look, I didn't want to have to tell you about _them_, but you need to get out of here for a few days at least. I don't know where you can live until then…well, I know this guy named Thatch who might let you guys stay at his place. He lives up on Fourth Avenue. You could tell him you're friends with me and Ace, and you guys need a place to stay for a few days. Just…you guys need to go. Especially Bepo."

Shachi opened and closed his mouth, very fishlike, as he processed this information. "Bepo?"

"Is not going to want to leave here," mumbled Law. "But he needs to, for his own good. I'm leaving tonight, and once Bepo gets back you two should get Penguin from his work in the morning and get the hell away. If they somehow follow me, at least I'll know you guys aren't near."

Shachi's mouth was a hard, thin line that told Law he wasn't about to give in easily. "You're absolutely certain we can't kick ass? I don't want to leave this shithole without a fight. If they want to hurt _you_, then I want to hurt _them_ twice as bad."

Law sighed and decided he would just have to leave and hope that Shachi and the others would do the right thing and follow his lead. Besides, he had to get out before Bepo showed up. He did not want a confrontation. He'd already worried Bepo excessively when he mentioned Crocodile to him, and he didn't want his friend caught up in all of this crap he was constantly immersing himself in. It wasn't fair.

"Who are these people, Law?"

He adverted his eyes and turned away from his friend. "I can't say, Shachi. I don't really know who's going to show up, I just know they're not going to be your average thug. The best thing to do is get away from here."

Shachi's mouth twitched. He knew Law had more to tell, but he could see from the pained expression on his friend's face that there was some secret that would be too arduous to explain. So he let it go. For now.

"I'm leaving. Goodbye, Shachi. I'll be back, hopefully in…well, let's give it a week to blow over. Just don't send the police after me or anything stupid if I don't come back right away. Have a little fuckin' faith in your captain."

"How are we supposed to know you're okay?" Shachi asked, his tone plainly showcasing his hurt. "How are we supposed to know you're even _alive_?"

Law chuckled a little. "I'm a hard one to kill, trust me. I'll try and send something, some sort of sign to you guys so that you know I'm still kicking."

With that, he double-checked that all of his saved-up cash was still in his pocket, that he had both sides of the note, and that he was wearing his very best running shoes.

Not that he owned another pair or anything.

* * *

><p>Shachi hadn't let him out the door without a fight, but he'd managed to get angry enough to force Shachi into a subdued state. He probably made a bunch of silly promises to reassure his friend, but he couldn't remember them right now, not when he was jogging to put distance between himself and the apartment.<p>

He really hoped they would leave before the black car showed up to nab him. He had told Shachi to leave before dawn. He just hoped Shachi would listen to him.

Even more than that, he hoped Bepo wouldn't insist on staying in the apartment.

Bepo wasn't naïve enough to believe that Law was going to be just fine. As soon as he heard about Law's departure he would be livid, that Law knew quite well. He'd feel betrayed, but more than that he would feel like Law had already been killed. And then he would try to find him. It was inevitable. Bepo would know that Crocodile was back just from the scant details he'd told Shachi.

It hurt Law just to think about his best friend. He already knew Bepo would be hanging around the Pink Flamingo trying to locate him, and the thought cinched his heart. He hoped Bepo would have more sense than that, but he knew it would likely not be so. As a result he prayed that Bepo would at least wear a disguise or refrain from asking around about him.

The streets were getting busier as it grew closer to dawn. He estimated that it was 4 o'clock in the morning, if the sun that had yet to peek over the horizon was any indication. It was still dim, but in an hour or two the sun would illuminate everything and the cover darkness provided would vanish.

He scurried along, wondering whether he should give a heads up to anyone else. Thatch's home was far away in the opposite direction he was travelling, and Marco's was around the same neighbourhood, so he ruled them out. He didn't want to stay on the outskirts of the city. He figured he needed to wait the week out where there were more people than the eye could properly comprehend. So he headed downtown and holed up in an empty bus shelter to think about his predicament.

After only a few minutes he grew restless. His fear that his friends were going to get hurt was slowly consuming him. He wanted, badly, to go back and lurk around the apartment building and watch for Crocodile's black car, but he knew it was foolish to do so. His lackeys would search the area, and they would know very well what he looked like.

There was also the chance they were following him right now, and Law would not go back to the apartment and put his friends in danger if they were lurking around the next corner, waiting for him to let his guard down.

He pulled out the two halves of the note and put them together, then read through it again. He'd been reading it nonstop since the sun started rising, and by now he had the words memorized. Still, he liked to be able to see his threats clearly spelled out for him.

His eye strayed to where Ace's name had been scribbled. Had they really captured Ace? He found it nearly impossible to believe. No, this was just bait. It had to be. Yet Ace had been gone for some time now, and he hadn't seen him around the club. Then there was the matter of Galdino's Grocery, which had been closed for three days for a long weekend and for the two days prior to that Ace had not shown up for work. Which wasn't _too_ unusual, given Ace's shitty track record. Still, Ace wouldn't just roll over and let himself get kidnapped.

Unless he was held at gunpoint.

Unless someone he loved was threatened.

Law squeezed his eyes shut. There would be only one way to check this. With a deep breath to sustain him, he sprinted to the nearest phone booth. He knew the number for the apartment Ace shared with his kid brother Luffy, though he'd rarely used the number before and his memory was fuzzy at best.

He slipped some coins in and his fingers hovered over the numbers. He had many bills and only a few coins at the moment, so he thought long and hard about the phone number, hoping it would be correct. He dialed and the phone began ringing, his own heavy breathing in his ear.

Someone picked up, and there was a long pause before Luffy's voice came on.

"Yo?"

"Ace? Is Ace there?"

"Eh? Who's this?

Law took a deep breath. His voice was shaking, and he wanted to make sure Luffy understood everything he said. "It's Law."

"Law? Oh, Trafal-guy. Hey there. What's up?"

"Is Ace there?" he asked again.

"Ace? Actually, Ace isn't ho– _Hey_! Hey, give that back! I was talking!"

Law steadied himself against the phone booth as he listened to a few seconds of static. Someone had taken the phone from Luffy, their hand over the receiver so things were muffled, and he could hear the other trying to recover it and yelling incoherently. Then, a deep voice filled his ears.

"Who's this?"

He blinked. This wasn't Ace. Yet the voice, he knew it.

"It's Law. Trafalgar Law."

He heard a sharp intake of breath. "Law? Oh God, you haven't seen Ace, have you?"

Law felt his stomach flop. "No, that's why I'm calling…what are you doing over there, Marco?"

He could hear Marco trying to fend off Luffy's attacks, and he watched as the screen which displayed the time that he had left to talk dwindled. "Marco?" he pressed urgently.

"I'm waiting for Ace to come home. He disappeared a week and a day ago now. I thought…well, he usually tells me when he's going with that policeman for a while, that Smoker guy, but sometimes he doesn't so…he hasn't contacted you, has he?"

"No," Law replied weakly.

"Shit. He's never been gone this long before without telling me. I'm worried he's in jail or something, like maybe Smoker turned him in for some reason and didn't contact anyone about it. I don't know. I've visited the local jail, but I'm not sure if I should go farther out…"

Law's dry mouth made it hard to articulate anything to comfort Marco. It would be great if Ace had been jailed. Fabulous, even. Then he'd be out of the path of danger. But, the facts were clear to him.

"I'm taking care of Luffy for him. I figure if I stay here long enough with the kid he'll come back eventually, right? Since Luffy's his most important person, more so than Smoker or I. That's what he always said when I asked him whom he liked better, Smoker or me. He always said Luffy and laughed at me…Law, are you still there?"

"Yeah," Law managed weakly, and the line cut out as his time on the phone was up. He hadn't been watching the screen blinking for him to put in more change for additional minutes. He had been too preoccupied. Now he didn't have enough change to call Marco back. Damn.

He never had enough of one thing or another. That frustrated him, and in his frustration he smashed the phone receiver against its hook so hard it bounced back at him. He left it hanging.

Law stomped down the street and crossed it, his eyes trained to the ground. He needed to think, fast. What time was it? How far away had he walked from the apartment? How fast could he run back there and turn himself in to Crocodile? What would he say to plead for Ace's safety and have his wish granted?

He started running, hoping that the black car would still be there by the time he arrived. He darted around parked vehicles and in between traffic, turned round corners sharply, and cursed aloud. The sun was peeking over the horizon. He needed to move faster…

He cut across a road just as a car peeled out of a turn and froze, turning to go back to the curb. But the car was already on him, slamming its breaks. It stopped just short of his legs and he stared down at the spoiler, his thoughts turning dark. People got killed by cars all the time. He could have been killed, too. Then it would be all over.

Some guy flipped him off from inside his vehicle and, beyond frustrated, Law kicked the front of the car as hard as he could with his sneaker. A nasty grin flashed across his face when he saw the dent it left.

The guy rolled down his window to yell at him. "_Hey_! Fuck you, kid!"

Law dented his car again with a swift kick, this time scratching the bright red paint, and the man's response to that was to rev the engine. Wait. No, it was _moving._

"Shit!" Law yelped as he dashed out of the way of the car. The tires squealed and he just barely made it over the side of the hood before the car was ripping up the pavement. He staggered onto the sidewalk, panting, and watched the man floor it down the street.

He hoped the murderous ass would get a speeding ticket.

"Hey! Hey you!"

Law glanced up at an expensive looking car that had to have stopped suddenly behind the one that nearly killed him. It was a bright, sonorous yellow with black tinted windows. His first thought was how easy it would be to spot in a parking lot. Then he glimpsed a hand sticking out of the driver's side window, waving at him.

He scoffed and tried to go on his way, across the road, but the yellow beast inched up and he jumped back, fearing it would be round two of Law vs. Car With Idiot Driving.

"Hey, Heart!"

He froze. Oh no.

He took a double take at the hand and cautiously inched around the side of the vehicle, fully aware that he doing the stupid thing by not running for not only his life, but Ace's life and perhaps his flatmates' lives as well.

The window was rolled down all the way and he peered inside, glimpsing blonde hair, black bandana, and dark sunglasses. Oh. Oh thank God.

This was not Eustass Kidd. Only that other guy. Masked Man. Bandanna Guy. The Unisex Maverick. What the hell had his name been?

Then he remembered the shark. It certainly helped clarify things for his muddled mind. "Killer?"

"Hey! Finally. Fuck, that guy almost ran you over. I didn't know it was you up there until he took off. Honestly, some people, ya?"

"Um, yeah."

Killer adjusted his sunglasses, pushing them farther up the bridge of his nose and said, "Hey, since we ran into one another, I was wondering something…have you seen Kidd lately?"

"Kidd?" he squeaked.

Yes, he did in fact squeak. He wanted to believe it was the oxygen loss due to sprinting and nearly getting run over, twice, but the name had pulled some sort of nervous trigger inside him in addition to all that.

"Yeah. See, he was in a right pissed mood when he got back last night from…that club he goes to. I was on, er, well, _guard_ _duty_, and he just stormed inside. Figured you might know why he's so upset and all. Did you see him last night?"

"Yeah," Law answered. "I, uh, couldn't stay for very long though. I don't know what happened to him afterwards."

"He just looked ready to cleave someone's head in two with a butter knife, that's all. It's nothing you should worry 'bout, anyway."

"Oh, okay then."

The window began to roll up, Killer disappearing bit by bit behind tinted glass. "It was nice seeing you again, Heart. Really." The glass stopped, halfway up. "But, could you do me a favour and spend a little more time with Kidd? Honestly, he could be a changed man with your influence."

Law blinked, and the rest of Killer disappeared from sight. Not that it mattered considering that he'd never seen the man's face. Hell, he still wasn't even entirely convinced he was in fact talking to a man.

The world was just a mess right now.

He turned from the car and continued across the street.

"Hey, Heart!"

The hair on his neck stood up not in fear but anger. He forced his voice to remain calm as he turned around and shouted, "What?"

Then he saw he wasn't talking to Killer. No, who was addressing him was not Killer, but some big wide guy that was getting out of the backseat of Killer's car.

His mouth dropped open. "You?! Bullet Wound Guy?!"

Bullet Wound Guy scampered up to him and grabbed him by a shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey! Never thought I'd see my Angel again, but here you are. Amazing coincidence, that."

He tried to shrug out of the man's grip. The bluish hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail, those oh so familiar dreadlocks, were really freaking him out. Not to mention the scars all over him. Those were infinitely worse in the daylight hours.

Daylight. Shit. He did not have time for this.

"I have to thank you. Seriously. You had to have saved my life, or at least that's what everyone says. Well, the doctor said that, but doctor's are kind of the authority when you get shot."

Suddenly, he heard Killer's voice again, ringing out from the window of the yellow beast. "Eddie, get the fuck back in the car you moron! What the hell are you doing?"

Law yanked at the man's arm, trying to free himself from his grip. "Please, I have to be going. I'm glad you're fine, but _I really need to run somewhere right now_."

"You need to go somewhere?" Law did not like the brightness in those eyes. Briefly, he regretted saving Bullet Wound Guy's life. His mind transported him back to that night, and he remembered the man's name, or his alias, or whatever it was. Heat. That was it.

"Heat, I really need to be somewhere. Sorry, but I can't chat with you right now. I'll…I'll get in touch…or _something_." He was well aware he was beginning to whine a little, but it was no wound to his pride. The guy was an idiot who likely would respect him no matter what his voice sounded like at this point in time.

"Let us give you a ride then," Heat suggested cheerily. He began tugging Law along behind him. "Come on, I insist. Killer won't mind."

"Fuck, Eddie, _look up_!"

Law watched Heat's face as he glanced up above his head. The man was taller than him, and he had to wait until he looked back down to see his facial expression had completely 180ed on him. What was just seconds ago remarkably friendly and cheerful was now sinister and foreboding.

"_Shit_."

Law heard the gun rather than saw it. He didn't even have time to spin around and search for the one who pulled the trigger. Instead, he got to see pavement. Lots of pavement.

He panicked and flailed, but the man he knew as Heat had him over his shoulder so quickly that the efforts to free himself from Heat's grip earlier were pathetic in comparison. The man was way stronger than him, built like a bull on growth steroids. Okay, that he could find a way to deal with eventually. What freaked him out more than having his ass bobbing up and down in the air and strong arms encircling his thighs was the gunshot.

That was decidedly scarier.

Law was jolted continually as Heat made a mad dash to the yellow car. Every time a foot fell down upon the pavement Law found his body slipping from Heat's shoulder, his head jarred upwards, and eventually he could see what, or rather, _who's_ wrath they were escaping.

Tall and fat, dressed in black, and holding some sort of bazooka contraption which covered his face so only a tuff of shiny blond hair could be seen. Then, beside the gunman, a short stumpy lady who was plump to the point of reminding Law of a Christmas bulb. Shouting at the man. Shouting at him to shoot.

Law gaped as the gunman cocked his bazooka to reload, but he didn't get to see much more of the duo as he slide down Heat's chest when the other came to an abrupt stop. Then, he was loaded. Into the backseat of Killer's car. Face first.

His face landed somewhere rather warm and firm, and he tried to sit up but Heat's weight as he slid in beside him forced his butt in the air and his center of balance went from horizontal to diagonal.

He rolled up the backseat as Killer hit the gas and they went speeding. Numbly he heard a metallic bang, and someone above him remarked about the close call with startling calmness.

"You okay there, Heart? Shit man, I'm sorry. We wasn't expecting those guys to be–"

It was Heat's voice, and Heat's clumsy hands were trying to right him but failing miserably. Rather, his back end fell off the plush seat and he landed on his side with his head up. That's about when the other man in the back seat with them decided to acknowledge Law's sudden presence in his lap.

"Ah, Heart, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

He must have opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times. Finally, the ridiculously tall man that towered over him even while seated took pity on his speechlessness. "I'm Wire. We never properly met."

The center of gravity shifted as Killer made a sharp turn, and two sets of burly arms lifted him from the car floor after his head suffered a terrible smack against Wire's window. They set him down on his butt so he was wedged between them, and he flinched when someone's hand ghosted over his crotch, until he realized it was Heat trying to put a seatbelt on his rather comatose body.

Killer made another sharp turn, and Law slumped against the man called Wire. He peered up at the man with wide eyes, thankful for their height distance. If they hadn't such a difference he would have found his chin against the other's, and that would have been more awkward considering he hadn't shaved in a while now.

Though nothing save for getting shot could really make this situation worse anyway.

"That was a close one," Heat was saying loudly. "Almost got shot. Again!"

"Yeah, I'll say. Fuck. You weren't supposed to get out of the damn car, Eddie! There's a hole in my car door from that bullet, and that could have bloody well been in your ass!"

Law blinked. He had never heard Killer so…angry and vocal. Well, not that he knew the guy, but still. He'd been rather quiet and polite after that initial spat they had in Kidd's penthouse. Which had involved, curiously enough, a gun.

He should have fled the city a long time ago. Damn.

The penthouse got him thinking about red hair and a muscular physique. Kidd. Shit. He was surrounded by Kidd's…well, whoever these weirdos were. Lackeys, thugs, security guards? This was not good. Not good at all. He had been so worried about finding himself gagged, handcuffed and thrown into the back of Crocodile's vehicle, and now here he was being kidnapped by whackos that didn't even know his real name.

Speaking of which… "Your name is Heart, correct?"

Wire was talking to him again, and he looked up at the man. He had odd sideburns that were curved in and a hood over his head, casting a dark shadow down his face. No, that was just the melancholic expression he wore. The hood was doing nothing to aid him.

"It is not your real name, is it?" Wire asked next. He spoke slowly, enunciating every vowel and consonant.

"Um." Law thought this was obvious. "No, no it's not."

Wire nodded slightly, and even the tiniest motion of his head held a peculiar solemnness about it. Law wondered if someone had died recently, because this guy seemed like he had just attended a funeral. "I understand. I, too, carry an alias."

"My real name's Eddie Heat. Just so you know. You can call me Eddie, _Angel_."

"I believe _I _was addressing him, Eddie," Wire said, his voice slightly louder than before. "Killer, what are the coordinates on the GPS? How much time remains until we arrive?"

"We have about 6 minutes until hitting Garage 4. Call Kidd, would ya? Tell him they're on the move again and that he needs to keep inside just in case they try to pull something." Law watched a pair of sunglasses appear in the rearview mirror, and he just knew Killer was looking straight at him. After all, he was the odd one out, sandwiched between two buff guys whose stiff, unyielding arms were pushed up against his own in such a way that he had to bring his shoulders up to make room for their bulging muscles. "Oh, and don't tell Kidd we have his…uh, his Heart."

_Don't tell Kidd his whore is in the backseat_, Law thought, filling in the pause with a certain word that Killer could not make himself utter. So, Killer _was _polite. To him. He wondered whether there was some significance to that.

Wire pulled out a cell phone with a bit of difficulty considering the lack of elbow room in the backseat and dialed a number with his beefy fingers. Law intended to listen in on the ensuing conversation, in hopes of gaining a bit of knowledge about why someone had shot at them, but instead Eddie began speaking to him, proving himself a challenging distraction to cope with.

"You know, I _am _pretty sorry about grabbing you like that, Heart. It's not like I do it often," Eddie said, placing a large hand over Law's shoulder. "Honestly, tell me if I hurt you, Angel."

"Uh, I'm fine. Really. Please don't call me Angel, it's strange."

But Eddie was not so easily hushed. He kept a steady stream of apologies coming, and they washed over Law, drenching him with pity he didn't exactly want at the moment.

"–I never carried anyone before, and I know now that picking someone up like that was probably not the best way to do it to protect them from bullets you know, but–"

A part of him wondered why Eddie was so fearful of his health. He had two theories, one he liked better than the other. Theory one involved Eddie not wanting him injured because Law had helped him out and he didn't want to rack up of more of a debt to him. The other theory, much less favoured, was that Eddie was deathly afraid of what Kidd might do to him lest he find out that the man he knew as Heart got a little roughed up. Law was not inclined to believe a third theory: that Eddie was just an overly worried fellow by nature.

Regardless of what it was, Law decided to shut Eddie down before he lost his vocal cords via Wire's building irritation. He could feel the man's body tensing beside him, and he did not want to be caught in any sort of crossfire. "Please, um, _Eddie_, it's fine. I'm not hurt. In fact, please stop the car and let me out."

He directed his last plea to the driver, but Killer didn't seem to hear him. That, or he chose to ignore him altogether. Beside him, Wire was still speaking slowly into the phone while glaring at Eddie. Law had missed so much of the conversation already that it was impossible to know what was being spoken about. In all actuality, Wire was speaking very little, and Law believed that even if Eddie had not been present he still wouldn't have been able to decipher Wire and Kidd's conversation.

Was he even talking to Kidd? Law didn't know that with any degree of certainty. Hell, he didn't know a lot of things, and he was starting to calm down knowing that the world was in a state of chaos around him and he could do _nothing _to quell the storm.

He just had to weather it.

"We're here, get the guns out just in case."

Law went rigid. Not because of the handguns being distributed between the three men inside the vehicle from some hidden compartment in the backseat. No, they were surprisingly not the scariest part of what was yet to come. Through the tinted windows, dead ahead, he glimpsed a very familiar garage door that was rapidly folding up to allow them passage through from the street.

Into the belly of Eustass Steelworkers Ltd. they went. The car descended, and instinctively Law grabbed hold of both men surrounding him, squeezing their bulging muscles with all the vigour of a man scared shitless. He recognized the first concrete parking garage as the one he'd been brought into by Kidd, but they didn't stop the car in that cold, suffocating place. No, they spiraled around in an arc and went deeper.

Deeper.

Deeper.

_Deeper_.

And that was about when Law passed out from a panic attack.

* * *

><p>He woke to a lion's roar. It expressed pure and utter anger again and again, and Law grit his teeth and groggily moved his hands up his body so he could shove a finger in each ear. Even with the padding he could still hear it roaring away, and when the fogginess cleared from his mind and he opened his eyes, he realized the lion was closer than he'd like a wild animal to be.<p>

Eustass Kidd was standing quite vertically next to his waist, and he realized he was once again in a horizontal position. From this angle, he got a view of Kidd's crotch encased in dark slacks and not much else. It wasn't a bad view, all things considering, but he'd much prefer if he could wake to some peace and quiet.

He screwed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to pretend he was sleeping, but he supposed the fingers in his ears gave him away because suddenly the lion stopped roaring at people and began gently stroking the top of his head, fluffing his hair.

"_Heart_," Kidd practically purred in his ear.

He opened his eyes to see the wild, feral eyes of his most dangerous conquest thus far. "Mister Eustass, could you keep it down." He tilted his head forward so his chin was touching his collarbone. In Kidd's bedroom with them – as the ridiculously coloured walls revealed his location clearly – the three musketeers of Wackoville all stood well away from the bed looking thoroughly chastised. "I had no idea you abused your minions by roaring at them."

"Doing what?" Kidd asked, his brow furrowing.

"Never mind. Get your hand off my head."

The hand didn't move. Not even a millimeter. He felt too tired to swat at it, and his thoughts drifted to the cause of such lethargy. Ah, yes. The underground parking garage. He had freaked out and forgotten to breath. How wonderful.

"Leave us," Kidd barked at his minions. They all awkwardly shuffled past Law lying on their boss's bed and down the stairway of doom to the level below. Eddie gave Law a look of extreme distress, but luckily for Law's growing headache he did not apologize for anything.

"I was so worried about you when you ran off like that. I…I had no idea what I did to make you scream like I was murdering you, but _fuck_, that guy–"

"Doflamingo," Law whispered, and his headache grew tenfold.

"Yeah, I know who he is."

"Oh." Of course.

"I bought his club."

At this, Law sat straight up in bed, his back rigid. "_What_? You _bought _the club? The Pink Flamingo?"

"Yeah. I was so angry that he had some kind of contract with you that he was _clearly _abusing. I gave him an offer on the spot and he took it, somewhat unexpectedly. Said he was looking to get out of the business and go into something else that was more lucrative."

A lump formed in Law's throat and he found he couldn't even form a coherent thought to express his utter revulsion. He didn't even move away when Kidd sat on the bed next to him and wrapped an arm around his middle, pulling him into his side.

"Now I have you all to myself."

At last Law found his voice. "I don't work there anymore. I…I refuse to dance ever again. I'm not dancing for him, for you…for anyone."

He tried to extract himself from Kidd's grip, but found he was too exhausted to do much. He'd been running and hiding and had got himself shot at by maniacs, all without getting eight hours of sleep the previous night. He was in no position to elbow Eustass Fucking Kidd in the gut and make a break for it. In fact, he wasn't even sure he wanted to.

A part of him loved the soft downy blanket under him, and Kidd's arm was warm and an odd comfort as it remained still and fixed in his world which had been so full of movement and chaos. He almost wanted to adjust himself and lean back into Kidd's chest, or lie down on the bed with the ugly lizard print on it and pull Kidd's arm around himself so he could hug it to his chest.

It would be so nice, so peaceful, to just go back to the limbo state of unconsciousness.

Then he remembered Ace's face, and Bepo's and Shachi's and Penguin's and, much to Kidd's alarm, he began to cry silently.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> What's this? A FRIDAY UPDATE?! No, it can't be…but it is. Holy baloney. And, to top things off, it's a rather long chapter (7,300 words according to the doc manager), because one reviewer noted that chapter 12 was a little short in comparison to all the other chapters (in all actuality it was longer than chapter 10, but oh well).

Kidd: "You'll never let me _properly _sex Law up, will you?"

I'm tellin' ya guys, _someone's_ going to end up back in the closet.


	14. Fourteenth Fervor

**...**

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Fourteen – Fourteenth Fervor_

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><p>Law grabbed one of the many fluffy pillows on Kidd's bed and twisted his body so he was face down and sobbing into his inanimate victim. He felt Kidd's hand on his back, light and hesitant at first, unmoving, and eventually the touch became firm. The mighty Eustass Kidd was rubbing his back. There was but one thing more awkward than that, and it was the little hiccups Law made as he cried and tried to breath at the same time.<p>

Kidd's scent was overpowering and Law wasn't sure if its presence in his lungs was calming him or getting him more worked up. All he knew for certain was that Kidd allowed him to break down into near hysterics on his gigantic bed that could fit four people and support a crazy orgie. The thought made him hiccup harder, and he realized dimly that he'd bypassed the Crossroads of Tears and entered the Laughing Zone, where everything was bleak, bleak, bleak but at the same time hilarious.

He realized, after a few unbecoming snorts that could have been sobs in disguise, that Kidd was now trying to shush him.

"It's okay, Heart. You're okay. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. The people who shot at you and Eddie? They're going to be taken care of, don't worry. I'm going to kill them for this. _Shhh_…"

Law shook the entire pillow as he tossed, his body convulsing along with his mind. _No_. The guns and all the shooting he'd been subject to were just the tip of the iceberg. He laughed harder as his tears made a huge pool of chilly wetness on the designer pillow. No, Kidd really had no idea the extent of his problems.

His body stiffened when Kidd's hand stopped rubbing his back, and then he felt the same hand return once more, only this time it had been slipped under the hem of his sweater. Kidd continued massaging him in slow circles, but the skin on skin was infinitely more soothing than anything so far. Law found himself stilling, his tears pausing in their descent down his cheeks, and at last he just felt dried out and empty. He turned his face up to see Kidd staring down at him, eyes uncharacteristically soft and troubled.

Kidd brushed his other hand over the tears on Law's cheek, the back of his knuckles swiping the wetness away. His knuckles were rough but Law appreciated the gesture because nobody had ever done that for him. It almost made him tear up again. He barely managed to hold in more waterworks. It felt like it had been years since he'd been this conflicted. He was no regular crier; that was for damn sure.

Kidd leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, so unexpectedly tender that Law's shoulders tightened. Then Kidd withdrew and stood up, his body tense. "Stay here. I'm going to get you some food, and then I'm going to bathe you."

Had Law enough energy left in the reserve he would have snorted obnoxiously. The domineering, commanding male lion of the pride was back.

He lay still while Kidd left his side, eventually exchanging his dirty pillow with a clean one. He closed his eyes, and it seemed to him like he might have dozed off and come back to consciousness without realizing it. That or Kidd was just really quick to return and he'd only had his eyes closed for a scant few minutes.

No, he could see it was late afternoon. Perhaps even evening. The sun was setting now. Orange light poured into the room, and Law squinted at the large window wall that showcased the city's buildings. It was like watching a movie. The city was alive, people were going up and down elevators in huge skyscrapers and helicopters were hovering around buildings, occasionally landing on helipads. He watched a single red balloon float upwards into the clouds, filled with helium, and wondered after the kid who'd lost it.

He felt panic sit in as he realized even more time had slipped past him, but he was too tired still to leap out of bed and run for the elevator.

Kidd appeared suddenly in his line of vision, jolting him out of his dream-like state.

He had Law sit up in bed. Well, it hadn't exactly been an option. Law's body was manipulated like a marionette, and Kidd positioned him just where he wanted him, up against Pillow Mountain.

"You were out for a while," Kidd told him. "I made you something for lunch but now it's past dinner. I didn't want to wake you when you looked so peaceful."

Law groaned and closed his eyes. Another missed meal hurt.

"I'll make something quick," Kidd said before disappearing and leaving Law to watch the city. He returned some time later with the promised meal.

In his hand he had a bowl of soup, or stew; Law couldn't tell right away. It smelled good, anyhow. Everything in this room smelled good to him considering his last memory before panicking was of the rancid smell of sweat from two burly guys he'd been wedged between. That, and the smell of damp concrete was so ingrained in his memory from his childhood that he didn't have to be outside the car to actually experience its scent.

He shivered and his back began to ache. He had yet to figure out if he actually did ache periodically because of its past injury or if it was all in his head, all psychological. It was probably a bit of both.

"I want you to eat. Please."

A spoon came towards him laden with broth. "You don't have to feed me."

"I _will _feed you and you _will _eat," Kidd said stubbornly. The spoon touched against Law's closed lips and he parted them, watching Kidd's face change. Relax. His rather red lips that stood out so starkly from his pale skin parted as well as Law took the first spoonful into him.

His taste buds exploded into shouts of glee and warmth slid into his stomach when he swallowed. Kidd got, perhaps, two spoonful's more of his erotic fantasy before Law stole the bowl out of his hand and commenced drinking it. It was definitely soup. The broth was thin and delectable.

He hadn't consumed anything in so long. Maybe even longer than twenty-four hours now. He guzzled the broth and picked the spoon out of Kidd's other hand to shovel the other little bits of sustenance into him that remained on the bottom of the bowel. He didn't even know what exactly he was chewing and swallowing, noddle or bits of vegetable or meat chunks. It didn't matter. He was just famished and the soup was not enough. His stomach grunted and strained, dissatisfied with the meager taster.

Kidd wordlessly left his side, taking the empty dish with him. Law slumped against the pillows and waited for him to come back, and when he finally crested the top of the staircase of doom Law brightened considerably. He had brought another offering of food.

"The other guys made hotdogs and fries for themselves. Here, if you want," Kidd said awkwardly, handing the plate with two buns fitted with dogs on it. To the side was fries and ketchup, and Law had a feeling Kidd would never feed him this on a normal day. It seemed too unexceptional for the extraordinary Eustass Kidd.

Law took the plate with utmost care and scarfed down everything on it. It filled the void the soup hadn't been able to, and he felt stuffed with nasty, greasy food and invigorated for the first time in a long while. Though his stomach could not fool the rest of his body into thinking it wasn't tired. He was still exhausted despite his sleep and he didn't want to move if he could avoid it.

"I'm going to draw a bath for you, and then I'm going to scrub all the dirt off of your body," whispered Kidd. He wrapped a hand around Law's neck and gently drew his chin upwards, plating a kiss on his parted lips. Law didn't react at first and by the time he was ready to kiss back Kidd had disappeared into his expansive bathroom.

Law watched the city and wondered just what he ought to do now. He couldn't sit by idly and pray for Ace's safety and hope his prayers would be answered. Ace wasn't safe. His gut said he was suffering somewhere. But Law's body also told him he could only sit right now, and that there was nothing he could do for Ace until he figured out where his friend was actually being held.

Naturally, he worried about his other friends. He thought about asking Kidd for a phone and calling them. Their landline was working again since Law paid the bill. Then he realized that was silly considering they likely wouldn't be in the apartment anymore, for better or worse. Perhaps instead he'd get Kidd to give him a computer and e-mail Shachi so he got some sort of correspondence via his laptop. Should Shachi take it with him when he escaped. If he escaped.

Kidd returned and gathered Law up in arms, supporting his back with one arm and the undersides of his knees with another. Law allowed Kidd to carry him, and they didn't speak until Kidd set him down on the bathtub's wide ledge.

"I'm going to undress you," Kidd informed him, and Law noted his breathing was heavier than before. A part of him stirred restlessly, and he closed his eyes against the glittering tiles of the bathroom and lifted his arms as Kidd pulled his hoodie up over his head and deposited it on the floor without glancing at it. Law stared up into the other's dark eyes and saw within them unbridled lust. Or was it? He wasn't used to looking for anything else.

Kidd stooped and began to undo the fly of his jeans. Law watched him, noting how unhurried he was, like they had all the time in the world. It made his gut lurch. Kidd might have all the time in the world, but he surely didn't.

His jeans pooled around his ankles and Kidd's hands moved up his legs to rest on his hips. All that now protected him was a well-worn pair of black boxer briefs that had been washed so many times they'd faded to grey. Soon, he was unprotected and vulnerable.

"Don't touch me there," Law said coldly as Kidd stared fixatedly at his nakedness. He turned away from Kidd as the other got undressed and shakily climbed in the tub. He had figured Kidd would want to join him.

He sighed as the warm water embraced his battered body and snuggled himself in the farthest corner away from Kidd, wrapping his arms around his drawn up knees. He watched the pale man climb in, and flex his muscles as he sat slowly, the water gladly eating him up inch by inch.

"Come here," Kidd whispered, reaching for him. Law didn't react and Kidd's wet fingers glided over a shoulder, then up Law's neck until they were able to tickle the dark stubble on his jaw. "I said I'd wash you…"

"I'm in no mood to be fucked in a bathtub," Law growled into his arms. They hid his mouth, which quivered somewhere between a frown and smile. Kidd disgusted him, but at the same time Kidd had been the only one in a long time he'd found himself attracted to, and whose form of rough lust he accepted and was not entirely put off by.

"I wasn't planning on fucking you," Kidd said plainly. His voice sounded pained, hurt by Law's accusation. "Come here, Heart."

The hand drifted down from his jaw and back down his shoulder, and then wrapped loosely around his bicep. His arm was lifted, gently, and Kidd's hand ran down his arm and stopped only when they were hand in hand.

Kidd was pushing him, but not shoving him, and that Law liked. He liked it a lot. So he gave in and went to Kidd, feeling a strong arm wrap around his chest as Kidd pulled him into his body.

He felt Kidd's erection against his bottom and grimaced. Kidd was such a liar.

While he brooded and started to think of ways he could escape Kidd while staying in the tub and its welcome warmth, he watched as Kidd reached for shampoo. He heard the sharp plasticy click of the cap and then hands on his lower back, pushing him forward so he began to fall backwards, down deeper into the water. He might have begun to flail had Kidd's hands not stopped his descent.

Just enough to get his hair wet. He glared up at Kidd as the other rinsed his hair, then let him rise again.

"Relax," Kidd whispered. Law could hear his offense that he was not trusted in the bathtub. It amused him and he couldn't suppress a tight-lipped smile from breaking out on his face.

Kidd's hands were in his hair, and he remembered one of the first times he'd had Kidd's hands there. He had been on the floor of Kidd's Ferrari. His lip curled when he contemplated just how far he'd come since then. Or not so far, as it seemed.

His mouth slackened as Kidd's fingers began to massage him, and he could hear the bubbles from the shampoo lather bursting near his ears. It felt…exquisite. He had never had his hair washed by another before, not a mother, not a hairdresser, and certainly not a lover. Law closed his eyes and breathed in the steam coming off the surface of the bath water. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to get used to something like this. Then he realized he probably wouldn't ever get used to someone being this tender and generous towards him.

Law didn't have a lot of hair to wash, but Kidd's fingers continued to massage his head long after Law was sure his hair would come clean when rinsed. Eventually those gentle but firm fingers moved down and rubbed shampoo into his sideburns, which made Law snicker. Kidd was washing his goddamn sideburns. How could he not find that just a little amusing?

"You need to shave," Kidd mused, running a finger across some stubble that was growing in along his jaw and all around his goatee. "I can get a razor and do it for you. You're kind of cute all fuzzy, but I like it more when you look sharp and sexy."

Law snorted. It was the only way he knew how to artfully take compliments from Mr. Megabucks. "I don't trust you shaving my face, thanks."

"I didn't think you would. That cabinet over there has everything you need. Feel free to use it when we're done…"

He wasn't sure he liked the way Kidd said that, implying that there was more to do in the tub than just wash his hair. He stiffened when he saw Kidd grab for a bar of soap after rinsing the shampoo from Law's hair.

"I still want to wash every inch of you," Kidd suddenly whispered feverishly. "I don't know how many men have touched you, but from now on _I'm_ the only one allowed to dirty you, understand? No one else."

Trafalgar felt a pang in his chest and his back began to ache. "I'm not _yours_ to just do whatever the hell yo–"

Kidd's eyes flashed dangerously. "You are mine and I am yours," he said with all the firmness of a businessman settling a nonnegotiable contract.

Law's heartbeat began to pick up speed, accelerating as his face flushed and he fell silent. Kidd was his? _His_?

"Do you have any idea how you make me feel? Just the sight of you…to have you here like this is more than I thought I'd ever be able to accomplish." Kidd looked him dead center in the eyes and said, "You need to trust me and my feelings because I'm a _brutally_ honest man."

"I don't trust anyone." Even as he said it aloud he remembered that he trusted _someone_. He trusted Bepo unconditionally. Bepo had proven himself, though. He lowered his voice and gazed at the tile wall. "Unless they've proven themselves worthy of my trust."

He found his own words ironic considering how unworthy he clearly was for this man.

Kidd's fingers stroked his goatee, and his eyes hardened. "Well, in that case I'll just have to prove to you that I'm trustworthy. I have a fair idea of what I'll do to start…"

Law sucked in a deep breath. He wasn't sure he liked the malicious glint in Kidd's eyes, an odd spark like he was planning something rather unethical. He didn't have a chance to inquire as Kidd's eyes shifted again and became brighter, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned.

Before Law knew what Kidd was up to he was spun around and grabbed by the underside of his thighs, and then hoisted onto the bathtub ledge. He tensed immediately as thoughts of the last time he was in this position flitted through his mind. The things Kidd had done to him while he sat on this same ledge were not something that he felt should happen again so soon.

Kidd worked the bar of soap into a cloudy lather in his hands, staring up at Law innocently the whole time as his expression shifted from freaked out to apprehensive. "Relax," he chided again. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything, and you already said I can't touch you _there_."

Law raised a fine eyebrow as if to say, _Oh really?_

Kidd's frowned deepened. "I'm serious. I'm going to build _trust _here."

"I'm going to go ahead and tell you that I noticed you were staring right at my penis as you said that," Law said tartly.

Kidd's eyes snapped up to his face. Law expected him to frown or, heaven forbid, at least redden, but the man obviously had no shame. "Well, it _is_ staring me right in the face. How could I ignore it? It's actually quite beautiful."

Law felt he ought to kick Kidd in the face. He certainly had the leverage and finesse to do so. However, given that Kidd's lackeys had guns on them and were stationed downstairs, he didn't think this to be the best option. Instead, he simply said, "We are _not _going to embark on a discussion about this."

"Fair enough," Kidd said, rising onto his knees. Law jolted a bit as Kidd's lathered hands came down on his thighs. His touch was firm, resolute, not at all like his hands had been when washing his hair. "We have other things I'd rather discuss, like where I'm allowed to touch you and were I'm not. Yet. Because I will eventually touch all of you, Heart. That you can count on."

Law scoffed and again he wondered just what would happen if he _gently _placed the flat of his foot against the man's face and pushed down. Drowning Eustass Fucking Kidd in his own bathtub seemed highly appealing for some reason.

Only his id, responsible for all thought relating to the most basic human needs being met in occasionally unconventional ways, decided there was one thing more appealing than that; getting pleasured by the same man in this bathtub.

His nether bits twitched gleefully at the idea. His consciousness and good reasoning suppressed it.

"Fine. If you won't answer me, I'll just use my best judgment then," Kidd said suddenly as Law began to ponder the pros and cons of letting Kidd have him. It was really shaping up to be a one-sided list, with the pros far outweighing the cons.

He tensed when Kidd's hands began to glide over him, starting at his thighs and, thankfully, moving downwards. Working the soap into him and the dirt out of him. Kidd even went as far as to reveal his foot massage techniques, which shocked Law so much that his mind blanked and all sarcastic remarks fled the scene. His left foot and then his right were finished with Law closing his eyes and parting his mouth. His breathing became slow and heavy, and he didn't mind widening his legs if it meant he was more comfortable up on the marble.

Dimly he realized he was probably becoming a very erotic sight to behold, and the thought that Kidd was likely getting off on seeing him come undone like this crossed his mind more than once. Yet he found he didn't really care playing the exhibitionist. Not with this man, anyway.

Because he felt appreciated. Not used, like he was by Doflamingo, Crocodile and countless other men that coped a feel of his front and his ass whenever he so much as walked past. Eustass Kidd worshipped him in a way he was unfamiliar with. It felt deeper and it appealed to him. That was all he understood.

It could have been the foot massages getting to his head and clouding his judgment. He couldn't tell yet.

His eyes snapped open when Kidd grabbed one of his arms and began to work it with the bar of soap. Even that felt nice. Then his other arm was given the same treatment. Then Kidd's hands went to his neck, gently encircling it, and Law grabbed his wrists before he tried to wash him there.

"No," he said firmly. Very, very deliberately Kidd withdrew his hands and held them up in front of his body, giving Law a scolded but understanding look. Then he cautiously placed his fingers on Law's collarbone and waited for resistance that never came. Law was fairly content with him washing his chest and sides. Kidd knew just how to grip and release his skin so it got his blood moving but was in no way painful.

He was pulled back down into the water when Kidd mentally deemed him fit to be rinsed. Law jolted and, being so long out of the warm water, it came as a shock to his system.

As he recovered and suppressed an erratic squirm at the temperature change, Law spoke his thoughts finally. "Where did you learn all that? One of your previous lovers teach that to you?"

He watched Kidd's face go from contentment to a displeased scowl in less than a second. Frankly, it was quite off-putting. "No, I did not learn from a previous lover. I _don't_ have any previous lovers."

Law gave him that same _Oh really_? look that so amused Kidd.

"I'm serious," he said with a faint smile, "there hasn't been anyone who has captured my heart like you have, _Heart_. You're beautiful."

"Jeez, could you be any cheesier," said Law snidely, though secretly he was preening his feathers. Kidd didn't really seem to be the sort of man to throw around semi-compliments. Besides being flattering it was rather comical.

Kidd grabbed his sides and turned him around so he was facing the wall, then his hands landed on his shoulders and Law tensed once more, no longer feeling playful.

It seemed Kidd sensed the instant change in atmosphere as well, for his voice dropped to a whisper. "Can I wash your back?"

Law sighed. "No."

"Where did you get these scars?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," Law snapped, getting to work pushing Kidd's hands off of him. First the left and then the right. "What about those scars on your face?" he asked rudely.

"Fight," Kidd stated. His simplicity further irritated Law, though he didn't know why. He supposed Kidd's reticence was supposed to guilt him into giving away a little more to gain a little more.

Law stretched a hand behind his neck and fingered the beginnings of a pink line that he knew was there. "Abuse," he muttered, and the water in the bath stilled. The silence dragged on, and Law realized he probably shouldn't have opened his mouth. It was not something that would go through Kidd's ear and out the other. Before things could get worse and increasingly personal, Law decided it best to run. "I'm getting out now."

He rose out of the water and hoped over the edge of the marble before Kidd could hold him down by his shoulders. Kidd rose after him, his eyes hard as steel. He supposed the man was busy mulling over his latest revelation. He snatched up the nearest towel and wrapped himself in it, keeping the towel loose rather than form fitting. He had just about enough of being naked and vulnerable in Kidd's presence.

Kidd was less ceremonious with the white towel he grabbed off a nearby rack. He didn't exactly cover himself, and started the drying process from the head down. Law noticed, with a bit of a flush not caused by the hot water, that Kidd's erection was still as buoyant as ever. Yet he was comfortable standing almost right next to him, drying himself as if he weren't eager for action.

The man really had no shame whatsoever.

Law adverted his eyes to the cabinet above the marble sink, which had a mirror as a door. He could see Kidd in the mirror, though from the height of the mirror he could only see him from the waist up. Which was just as well considering his own appendage was getting uppity at the sight of Kidd. He was a visual creature, and Kidd had been under the water before, but now…

He quickly began sifting through the cabinet's contents, eager to get his mind into a safer zone. He wanted to shave while he still had the chance.

He felt Kidd come up behind him after he secured an unused razor and a bottle of shaving cream, placing them on the sink's edge. He didn't dare turn around and give away the rising tent in the towel, and he felt Kidd press into him ever so slightly. Letting him know how he was feeling. What he so clearly wanted but wasn't going to force on Law.

"I want to dry you," whispered Kidd, his breath further steaming up the cabinet mirror.

"I prefer to drip dry all over your expensive tiles," Law replied taciturnly. He plugged the sink and began to fill it with lukewarm water.

"You'll catch cold," Kidd growled. Law was beginning to feel the first prickly sensations of Angry and Sexually Aroused Kidd. With Kidd standing directly behind him it would be too easy to kick up a leg towards his ass and nail him cleanly in the balls.

He refrained for fear of the ones downstairs not taking kindly to their boss's castration.

"Step back when I shave," Law advised. "I won't be held accountable for where this razor may go."

Kidd snorted and backed off. He could see Law's dark eyes were glaring into the cabinet mirror, sizing him up. "Fine…at least put on a robe. I really don't want you to freeze."

Kidd grabbed a very familiar fluffy white robe off a shelf and made to hand it to him. The robe was, as ever, very appealing.

"Fine," Law said as he took the offered luxury item. He managed to put it on and then yank the towel off of his waist, all so that Kidd did not get another glimpse of what lay below his navel. Then he stared expectantly at him, trying to look as cantankerous as possible to discourage any more touching. It was a hard look to achieve when wrapped in a fluffy robe. Kidd eventually got the idea that he was waiting until he left to start shaving.

Law was somewhat surprised when Kidd didn't immediately return a minute later to harass him, and he ended up finishing his grooming alone. His body had dried off significantly just standing in the warm washroom and even his hair was no longer sopping wet but only slightly damp. He pushed his fingers through it, spiking it up, and then smoothed it back down.

His limbs were heavy, and he found he had a hard time avoiding leaning on things for just that one moment of muscle relief. First the edge of the sink, then a towel rack, and then finally he resorted to the wall. He waited for Kidd to burst back into the bathroom but the redheaded dynamo didn't return.

It occurred to him that he should be out the door by now, not standing in an expansive bathroom in a pristine white robe like some sort of prince. He really should be out finding Ace, or making sure his other friends were unharmed. Not sitting in the lap of luxury.

His eyes scanned the bathroom, and his shoulders tensed when he noticed something missing that prohibited escape. All the clothes had been picked up off the floor, including those that belonged to him.

Heart racing, Law exited the bathroom at a brisk walk, his eyes focusing in on Kidd's hunched form over the side of his bed. He didn't have to get any closer to know that Kidd was sifting through his things. His rigid posture said more than enough.

He had found it underneath the piles of bills held together by elastics.

Kidd looked up as he approached and attempted to snatch the two halves of the letter away, only to rip them. Now it was divided into four pieces, and he held half of the words while Kidd had the other.

He looked up into Kidd's eyes and saw his fury. He mirrored the man, his teeth bared.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kidd hissed. He waved his two shards of paper in Law's face. "You should have fucking told me!"

"Why would I tell you?" Law lunged at the papers in Kidd's hand, and Kidd yanked his arm away. Half of the message, the only clue he had to work with to find Ace, was out of his reach. "It's none of your goddamn business anyway!"

"You've been in danger this whole time!" Kidd's other hand grabbed hold of Law's upper arm, holding him in place. "And it is my goddamn business! A certain someone wants me dead, and he was going to use you to get to me. Fucking fantastic, Heart. So are you considering killing me in my sleep or what?"

"Does it look like I'm armed to kill?" Law screeched at him. For a second Law though he saw the faintest inkling of a smile spread across Kidd's face. So, he found some amusement in Law seething while wearing the fluffy white robe. "Fuck you, Kidd. Give me that back."

Any trace of a smile evaporated and Kidd's lip curled menacingly. "So you were _his_ 'pet'? That's what he called you? Did he…did he _use_ you? And what's this about Doflamingo?"

Law slammed the flat of his hand against Kidd's chest, pushing him back and effectively making him let go of his shoulder, which felt like it was beginning to bruise. "Give me the fucking papers, I'm going to leave now," Law growled, bristling with anger. Another question and he strongly believed he might just loose it.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere," Kidd replied. "You're staying right here, where it's safe. Crocodile's been targeting me for the past few weeks. He's been a business rival since before I was _born_. My father was too chicken to get him killed off when things started to get rough, but I'm not like him. I was raised in a maximum-security penthouse just like this one, surrounded by armed guards just because of one lunatic that has always been lurking in the shadows. Well, no more."

Law's breath disappeared from his lungs, leaving him wheezing. Crocodile, dead? He couldn't even imagine…though he often dreamed about Crocodile face down in a pool of his own blood for what he'd done. Those were good fantasies, but they would never be reality. That was madness.

"N-no, he has a hostage and I won't let you just run around and get Crocodile to pull the trigger on–"

Kidd seized him by both shoulders and stepped in so their bodies were mere inches apart. "Where is Crocodile?"

"I don't know," Law whispered, distracted by the venom in Kidd's tone. Oddly enough, Kidd was suddenly beginning to sound as spiteful of the man as Bepo.

"How many armed individuals does he have?"

"I have no idea…"

The grip Kidd had on his shoulders loosened, and Law was privy to a smirk that spanned the diameter of Kidd's face. "Well, I can tell you the answers to those questions. Crocodile's base is on the edge of this city, just before you hit the Alabasta Desert mining operation, which belongs to _me _might I add. He's got several thousand men that he's bought off somehow, likely through borrowed money, but only about a hundred or so are stationed by him, and most are armed poorly if at all. The people who shot at you and Eddie earlier are high up on Croc's food chain, and I'm genuinely surprised that you were perhaps as equal a target as Eddie was… There, Heart; I'm not going to just run around wildly. There's a method to my madness."

Law worked to close his gaping mouth. "How do you know all of this?"

"A person can't keep my kind of job if they're ignorant. Trust me, I have eyes and ears everywhere. It's a matter of offering more money than the other guy. I have people who are close to Croc…but none close enough to put a bullet in his head."

Kidd's hands smoothed down his shoulders and wrapped around his back, and Kidd's forehead pressed against his own. "I guess that means I'll just have to do the job myself. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Considering what was in this note…"

Law pulled away and took several steps back. "You're fucking insane. You don't know what that man's like – the things he'll _do_." Kidd's eyes narrowed but he didn't seem at all fazed. "And no, I wouldn't like you killing Crocodile! My friend has been kidnapped by him, and if you do something rash he's going to get killed! Tell me where his base is; I'm going to go to the police. They raided his base before and they'll raid it again."

"You really think the _police _are going to help save your friend?" Kidd shook his head, almost sadly, and let out a mirthful snort. "Heart, your friend has more of a chance if you pin your hopes on me."

Law grit his teeth. He could see he was going to get nowhere trying to reason with such a pig-headed man. There was only one thing he could hope for, and that was a trade of assets. But, would Crocodile still want him? Would he even be willing to let Ace go?

"Fine, take me with you then."

"No."

His hands, curled into fists at his sides, twitched. He wanted to punch Kidd, anywhere, really. He didn't have a specific target point yet. "What? _Why_?"

"Because I love you and I want you to stay where it's safe."

"Again with the 'I love you' crap! You don't fucking love me! You don't even know me!" shouted Law. Oh, how he wanted to hit Kidd, right in the face now, and hopefully knock the very idea of 'love' out of his head. "You suffer from some kind of obsession disorder, you said so yourself! So what is it then?"

He saw something break in Kidd's gaze, and he was helpless to escape the overflow of emotions that surged forth. Kidd grabbed him and threw him down on the bed so hard that the mattress bounced him upwards again, and Law froze in fear when Kidd climbed on top of him, pinning him down.

"You need sleep," Kidd hissed right in his face. "You look terrible with those bags under your eyes."

Kidd's weight pressing down on his lungs was starting to make Law pant for air. "Y-You shouldn't change the subject!"

Kidd's dark eyes narrowed. "We don't have time for a lengthy discussion of my less than perfect qualities," he growled. Law felt his throat dry up. There was something so beastly about the way Kidd was dominating him that he was sure that if he pushed Kidd's buttons too harshly he was going to end up strangled.

He remembered being strangled by this man before. It had not been pleasant and he wasn't too keen on a repeat performance.

Instead he knew he was going to have to concede, if only a little. "His name is Ace and if you can manage to bring him back safely I'll…" he trailed off. He was about to offer sex, but he feared doing so would tie him down to this man and make any eventual escape cumbersome.

"…Well, I'll trust your word that maybe you do have intense feelings for me," he finished, looking away to avoid having to lie right to the man's face. Kidd eased up on him somewhat, and Law felt Kidd's thumb press into his goatee while the rest of his curled fist lifted his face upwards.

He let Kidd have him in a long fierce kiss that was not unlike an assault. Only Law felt his body responding, and he reached up to wrap his arms loosely around Kidd's broad back, if only to get more comfortable. Despite his brutish personality Kidd's lips were soft and his tongue swept across Law's lips but didn't press further.

Kidd eased off of him suddenly, just as Law was beginning to feel the urge to take things deeper, and he stalked off to the far side of the room where he disappeared into a walk-in closet. He came out with something shiny and black draped over his arm, and Law frowned as his first thought was that Kidd wanted him to change into a dress. He jumped to his feet, ready to verbally protest.

It turned out to be silk pajama bottoms, but Law didn't really see a difference between them and a kinky dress. Both were equally odd.

"Wear these instead of your ratty old clothes," Kidd instructed, placing them on the bed. What unnerved Law even more was that he could see the silk pants would not fit Kidd's wider waist. No, they seemed disturbingly close to being his size.

He was so fixated on the pajamas that Kidd closed in on his back and pulled the fluffy robe from his shoulders. "Change and climb into bed."

Law stood there, naked, and Kidd made a point of stalking away without looking. He went around the bed and over to the staircase that led downstairs. Law expected him to go down it; that was not the case.

Instead Kidd leaned over the railing and shouted, "You three! Up here now!"

Law scrambled to get into the silk bottoms that had been laid out for him, spurred on by the sound of heavy feet pounding Kidd's metal staircase. He had just gotten the elastic waistband to sit right on his hips so as not to look too provocative when Eddie appeared at the top of the stairs, taking in his bare stomach and the shiny silk. He could see the growing blush from across the room, and he knew it was not from sudden exertion.

He glanced down at the bed and wondered if he should climb into it. But that would be hiding, and Law was not about to hide from the absurdity that was Eddie and Wire. The latter pushed Eddie up the last step and established himself on the landing, barely sparing Law a second look. He strode up to Kidd and Law genuinely thought he was going to salute him or something equally ridiculous.

Killer appeared soon after the stairs were clear, and Law was surprised to see him walk past everyone and head for the door like he already knew what was going on.

Law didn't really like to think that the men that had been downstairs had been eavesdropping on all of their conversations.

"Change of plans. We're moving in tonight," Kidd barked.

Killer adjusted his sunglasses, sliding them further up the bridge of his nose. "I figured as much."

"Meet me down there," Kidd said, and the three filed out. Only Killer lingered in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his elbow up to keep the door ajar. Kidd waved his hand at Killer in a strange gesture that completely baffled Law, and Killer disappeared as a result of it, the door clicking back into place.

Law turned to Kidd to see his expectant face and crossed arms. Oh, right. Kidd had given him commands, too.

"Jeez," he muttered, lifting the corner of the lizard print blanket and flopping down on the mattress. Like the last time he was in Kidd's bed, it felt like sinking into a cloud, only he was very conscious of the fact that the bed was cold and it was going to stay that way.

Kidd hovered over him, finally having the sense to look a little awkward about the situation he was putting Law in. "Just sleep…I'll be back in two days, if all goes well. I'll bring your…_friend_ with me." Kidd flashed him a hesitant grin. "I'm sure you'll have no problem surviving in this place, Heart. Don't do anything dangerous. There will be people lurking around as security, but they won't bug you unless it's necessary."

Law snorted, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Kidd placed a hand on one side of his head and leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead, one that felt like his lips lingered far longer than they actually had.

"I wish I could stay with you," Kidd whispered into his hair. "But that's impossible if I want you safe and that man dead."

One final kiss and Kidd left the side of the bed without another word, turning and stalking across the room to the door. All of a sudden the lights cut out, making Law jolt and sit straight up in bed. His eyes were drawn to Kidd's silhouette in the doorway, the light from the hall outside that housed the elevator brighter than anything else.

"Good night, Heart."

Law opened and closed his mouth, unable to reply, and the shaft of light disappeared as Kidd closed the door. He heard a series of clicks, dimly registering that he was getting locked in. He turned to regard the wall that glowed faintly with the lights from the city on the other side of the glass. It was dusk again.

_What's next?_ he wondered, sinking back down into the embrace of the mattress.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> If this chapter had a title it would be: "In Which Kidd Washes Some Goddamn Sideburns."

Thank you, everyone, for your continued support for this story's continuation. I've hit a bit of a busy spell and haven't been able to reply to reviews like I usually do, but I still enjoy receiving everyone's comments, guest reviewer or not! I love you all. :)


	15. Fifteenth Fortitude

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Fifteen – Fifteenth Fortitude_

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><p>Law made the mistake of closing his eyes only to open them again to see the sun rising. He hadn't meant to sleep – he'd been planning on getting up as soon as Kidd left the building to get a head start on the hunt for some information that would point him in a solid direction.<p>

All he knew right now was what Kidd had so candidly told him. Crocodile was somewhere around the Alabasta Desert mining operation. It seemed extremely odd to him that Crocodile would be in that location of all places. There had to be some sort of bigger thing going on. There had to be more to the story.

He was sure of one thing: Kidd hadn't told him anything truly important. It had just _seemed_ like he did.

He rolled out of bed with a sour frown, his nose crinkling. He smelled like Kidd from sleeping in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and buried in his pillows. Surrounded by his earthy, entirely-too-musky-even-for-a-man scent. With that thought disturbing him more than it should have, he showered in scalding hot water.

When he got out his skin was about as red as Kidd's hair. He wandered into the bedroom in just a towel, looking at his clothing that lay on the floor beside the bed. He had checked as soon as he'd gotten up that his money was still in there, and he'd gently pushed his sweater under the bed before leaving for his shower. Paranoia haunted him still. The nagging voice in the back of his mind would be there 'til he died.

Eventually he settled on ransacking Kidd's closet. He figured he might as well have a look considering his usual attire had suffered greatly in the past few days. As he suspected the closet was half-full of suits and other formal clothing that didn't suit his needs. However, he was not expecting to find a great number of workout pants and sweat-wicking shirts, loose fitting garments that came in all colours and patterns.

He picked out a bright yellow shirt with horizontal black stripes and cracked up for the first time this morning. He would have loved to see Kidd wearing this.

He tossed the shirt and his mental image of Kidd as a bumblebee and focused first on finding something that might look like it would fit. Everything was a size or two too large on his slight frame. He held various things up to his body and took himself in by stealing glances at a large mirror running from the ceiling to the floor. Wow, did he ever need to eat more often. His cheekbones, though rather sexy in his opinion, were far too prominent.

His stomach snarled as if to agree.

He picked out a black shirt and a faded pair of jeans he'd found in the back of Kidd's closet. They had a few holes in them and he felt comfortable knowing they'd been well-worn. Of course they were baggy on him and after putting them on and walking back out to the main bedroom he found he didn't like the chaffing of the loose fabric on his legs.

He put on his regular jeans and grabbed the money out of his sweater. Though his sweater was better off discarded he couldn't bring himself to just leave it for the trash; he tied the sleeves around his waist and brought it downstairs with him.

The penthouse was eerily empty as he descended the creaking staircase of doom. He stopped in the kitchen to sift through the contents in the pantry and came out with the first snack box he could find. He was too restless to stop and make himself something to eat. He stuffed handfuls of the salty, heavy in saturated fat munchies he'd found while going deeper into a part of Kidd's penthouse he'd never had the privilege to explore before now.

He had ruled out the bedroom as a place where Kidd would keep valuable information. The kitchen, too, was out for obvious reasons. He continued on to find a guest bedroom and searched the drawers he came across. There was not much in them, though he was briefly amused when he found a box of expired condoms. Vaguely he wondered if they even belonged to Kidd.

Before continuing his search he returned to the kitchen with the largely depleted snack box and stuck his head in the fridge. Fruits and vegetables of all sorts greeted him. He grabbed a bag of grapes from the inside and an apple off the counter beside the fridge, as well as a bottle of water.

He came across a library next and found himself tense though intrigued. Kidd actually read books? Hmm, no, he remembered a conversation with the man where he'd confessed to only having to read when necessary.

He decided then that Kidd probably didn't spend a whole lot of time in his library room and thus there would likely be few if any valuable documents for him to peruse.

He continued on and found what he thought to be the jackpot; Kidd's home office. Or, perhaps, it was his only office seeing as the rest of the company functioned in the fifty or so floors below his feet.

All at once he felt rather odd standing above so many people in the boss's penthouse, searching through every drawer in hopes of finding something of value to him. Snooping where he _probably_ wasn't welcome.

He shrugged the feeling away and started going through the mound of papers on Kidd's desk. Business paper always made him tense, and he knew it was his early exposure to them that had developed this loathing for formal documents. He came across nothing of value to him.

At least not at first glance.

The second time he scattered the papers a logo caught his eye. It was familiar and, placing his hands around it to block out all the other distracting numerical figures so he was left only with the image, it came to him where he had seen it. The same logo of a crocodile had been in Kidd's wallet on a business card. He swallowed hard. Was Crocodile really this obvious?

No, the man had never been this stupid when he was just a kid, and he doubted that the increase of years had made him any less wise. Still, there was a chance Crocodile was baiting Kidd with images like this.

He looked at the rest of the document. From what he could tell it was measurements of something. Whatever it was it had to be a large area. He found his hunch was correct when he spotted coordinates at the bottom of the page. Several sets. More than one area had been documented, certainly.

There was a desktop computer nearby and he booted it up, praying that it wouldn't be protected by a password that would be impossible to guess. He arched his eyebrows when he found that the computer hadn't been shut down and the monitor was merely saving power in idle mode, the desktop's screen illuminating icons and a drab background when he moved the mouse. There were files open already and he sifted through them quickly. Financial statements and electronic receipts for heavy machinery purchased through manufacturing companies other than the ones Kidd himself owned. Nothing that concerned Law too much.

He opened up the Internet and placed the first string of coordinates in boxes provided on a website for maps. Waiting for it to load, Law scarfed down the last of the grapes and took a swig of water. When it was loaded he got nothing more than a large tan area outlined in orange. He frowned before zooming in with the scroll wheel on the mouse.

None of this looked familiar or noteworthy. He kept zooming until the orange outline was at the very edge of the screen and disappearing from view. Then he frowned, noting a somewhat familiar black and grey series of dots. That was a city. His city.

There was only one desert just outside of this city, and that was the Alabasta Desert.

He guessed this was the chunk of land Kidd owned, that Crocodile coveted, the sands rich in minerals and extractable crude oil. He zoomed in some more with a flick of the wheel. There were oblong specks he believed were massive machinery rigs and one particular rectangular building with several oval, dark brown circles jutting out of it. Though it was a topographic map he could tell there was a certain depth to them. He knew what they were precisely. He had seen those towers when on the edge of the city. They were smokestacks and that was likely where the oil was refined. Kidd had mentioned owning all the stages of the development, from raw material being extracted to it being sold in its refined form. Forget having fingers in the pie; Kidd had his whole hand covering it to protect it from invading fingers.

He typed in the other coordinates. These were very close in longitude and latitude and when the page loaded he saw the small area. A building. Not the refinery nor any place in the city.

He couldn't figure out what it was, but something told him it was more important than the other coordinates, especially since the paper bore the crocodile logo. That was not something his subconscious could ignore.

He printed the page and grabbed the sheet of paper that the printer spit out, folding it and sticking it in the pocket of his jeans with his money and other items of import. Perhaps he would be able to puzzle it out later, when he was on the move and far away from this skyscraper.

He left the computer as it was, closing out of the Internet and restacking the papers he'd disturbed on the desk. Then he went through the drawers, coming across a filing system of envelopes that he guessed were bank statements and the like. He pulled one out, just to check, and furrowed his brow.

These were medical reports.

Hawkins. The logo was plain and linear. He didn't recognize the name of the hospital or clinic and, knowing all the medical centers in the city, came to the conclusion that it was neither. He went back on the Internet and searched the name.

Up popped a website for psychiatric services. Mental disorders. The ads on either side of the webpage were for medications and shrinks.

He probed a little deeper. Some things he already knew and didn't have to search for clarification. He pulled the filing system out of the drawer and placed it on the desk for ease of access. He knew this was irrelevant to his search for Ace, but seeing Eustass Kidd's name in the grey box reserved for the patient's name piqued his interest to a point where he couldn't just get up and walk away.

He proceeded to invade Kidd's privacy.

Hawkins was an oddball according to the website he found on the man. There were reports that he practiced cartomancy and voodoo, but the majority labeled him strictly as a psychotherapist, one who treated mental illness using psychological means rather than medication. Law thought this peculiar, but he chalked it up to his textbook studies in medicine, as that was more up his alley.

He peered at the box below Kidd's name, which stated his condition clearly in such a way that made the problem seem simple when it was anything but. Kidd had a personality disorder. Borderline personality disorder; the black and white disorder Law had read only a scattered bit about. Such was spelt out for him in blocky serif text.

Yet, of what he had read, the diagnosis made sense to him; in fact it triggered a clicking in his mind that made him furrow his brow. There were things that ticked the boxes, but more things still that left them blank.

If Kidd had this disorder it was very likely Law just hadn't experienced Kidd in one of its characteristic depressive states. No, all he had seen was his mania in varying degrees. The overexcitement, his heightened sex drive, his desire to see Law all the time. He had certainly seen plenty of that. However, the obsession with him that even Kidd himself had admitted to was not central to the disorder. Or was it? Idealizing certain people was central to the disorder as well, but for some reason Law felt that whatever Kidd thought of him went beyond that. For one, Kidd hadn't switched from that state of idealization to something on the polar opposite side of the spectrum. Not yet, anyway.

People obsession he found in the shrink's scribbled notes, written as a separate entry.

He was scanning the notes closely, trying to decipher the handwriting of a potentially quack doctor, when a loud _thump_ made him jump in Kidd's leather office chair. He dropped the paper on the desk and sprang up, on the offensive and ready to bolt or fight as needed. He heard another _thump_, just as muffled as the last, and wondered vaguely if Kidd had returned. The man did stomp around on occasion.

His gut twisted up. He shouldn't have leisurely showered and snooped; he should have been long gone by now. Far away from here, hitting the ground floor running.

He left everything as it was and ran through the penthouse. He didn't hear any further noises and so crept up the stairs, preparing himself for a confrontation but dimly wishing that the thump he heard was a pair of lovebirds hitting Kidd's window wall and bouncing back.

That was impossible considering the height, but it was sometimes calming to think irrationally.

He crested the top of the staircase and looked wildly about him. Nothing had changed since he'd been gone. There was no sign of activity on the top floor. Kidd hadn't returned. No one had entered the penthouse.

He walked over to the door, remembering his original purpose when he tried to turn the knob only to find it jammed. Locked. He needed a passcode or a key or something. He fingered the security systems, a keypad of numbers and a couple of slots of varying width and length. Keycards? Was that what he had to find? What if Kidd had the only keycard and it was currently on his person?

He debated smashing his palm against the keypad, which was softly illuminated with a blue under light. If some sort of alarm went off would people come and find him here? It was rather appealing, as he would be taken out of the building. The bad part was that he would likely be taken out of the building for break and entry in handcuffs. He wasn't Eustass Fucking Kidd and the authorities probably wouldn't take kindly to the simple fact.

In that brief moment of debate his thoughts wandered to Ace. He had wanted to get the police involved, send them out to deal with Crocodile using guns and handcuffs. Perhaps this was the best way to get their attention quickly…

Just as he brought his hand up to hover over the keypad, he heard a scuffle so minute that it was comparable to mice digging away inside a wall. His second thought was the elevator – was someone coming up?

Yes, it certainly was the elevator. He heard the ding of the service bell, but it was the sound immediately following that caused him to freeze in place. There was movement, shoes scuffing the floor, on the other side of the door. Quick, sharp movements, feet hitting the ground running.

He held his breath and listened, moving so he was poised to peer through the little peephole near the top of the door. He didn't get that far.

The gunshot rang out and he curled in on himself, the loud clap of a discharged bullet going straight into his chest. The sickening sound drove him down to the ground, where he keeled over for a few seconds. He heard another thump that was not his knees hitting the ground. Something had slumped against the door.

He sat there in shock, feeling himself over. He felt no pain. He was fine. Unharmed. It took him a few seconds to register that, and when he did he looked down and took stock of the situation.

There was something coming in under the door and he watched it, mesmerized, until he realized what it was; blood.

He leapt up just as the pounding began on the door, his heart racing and his mind piecing things together. Someone had been shot. Probably dead against the door. Inches from where he had fallen down, kneeling where there was now a thin coating of red spreading across the linoleum.

There was no moaning in agony, just someone trying to knock the door in. The gunman, out on a killing spree.

He revived from his petrified state and dashed across the room, heading for the stairs. There was nowhere to hide in Kidd's bedroom. Nor his washroom. The gunman would find him, shoot him, leave his body slumped up against some door like his other victim. He was not about to keel over again and get game over. Not yet.

It was his fault that Ace had been kidnapped by Crocodile, and he intended to set things right before flopping down exhausted in his grave.

He heard a smashing and splintering of wood but didn't dare look back, not until he reached the stairs and started down them. He stole a glance over his shoulder, and he locked eyes with a murderer peering through a hole where there was once a doorknob. No more. The door was beginning to swing open with the force of a fist snuggly holding a gun.

He turned away and took the steps two and three at a time, racing to the bottom. His mind was blank, his limbs numb, and his eyes roved the rooms he dashed through for a suitable place to hide, all too aware that he had been seen and would be pursued.

How much time did he have? None whatsoever if the door flying open was any indication of how fragile the balance between life and death was for him. He needed to get out of the hallway before he was spotted again and shot at from a distance.

He ducked into a room he'd never been in before, one that was farther than Kidd's office, and stepped on something immediately that caused him to stumble and crash to his knees. The floor below him made a hollow noise and he looked down to see a bluish colour that gleamed. He was on glass. He glanced around. A huge glass pane that covered the floor, with the exception of a large square area that looked like it would be easily lifted up. He blinked. It was a hatch of sorts.

He froze, his jaw slack. Despite never seeing this before he had an idea of what that hatch was for. The fish tank below. The one that made up the walls of the third floor of Kidd's penthouse. This had to be it.

He could see specks of colour below, very, very far below but beneath him nonetheless. Fish, and many of them to boot.

How long could he hold his breath for? Long enough for the murderer to glance in and then pass this place by?

He used all of his strength to throw open the hatch so it lay parallel with the other floor panes and looked down into the sparkling blue water with the faintest hint of green. Was he really going to do this?

The answer, after he regained an iota of his usual wits, was no. He could barely swim, let alone hold his breath for any substantial amount of time. His mind was taking him down a desperate route.

He took a clearer – not so panic driven – look around the room, of the other things scattered all over the glass floor. Other than the hatch there was a freezer box and a bunch of what looked to be cleaning supplies. Beside those lay a jumble of black, plastic things.

Diving suits, Law realized too late. He had been wondering how Kidd managed to clean the inside of the glass tanks. Now he knew. The bastard likely had people do it for him, but still. He could see the oxygen tanks lined up against the wall.

If only he knew something about scuba diving.

The fact was that he didn't, and besides, it was already too late.

The gunman barreled into the room, his pistol at the ready held out in front of his chest. Law felt grossly unprepared, standing like a deer on train tracks with a steam engine racing towards it. He just dumbly watched the gunman race over to the hatch and look down with a muddled expression on his face, turn, see him standing stupidly, and then freeze with his gun at his side.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The man raised his gun with a new resolve. Reacting quickly, Law put up his hands in front of his chest, palms out.

"Are you…_Law?!_"

His throat constricted. He'd never seen this man in his life. There was only one way the man would know who he was, and that was through Crocodile's influence.

"Fuck," the gun was lowered slightly but still just as threatening, "Well, well, well, isn't this just convenient?"

"Is it?" Law asked innocently. He was meekly hoping that by making small talk he would be less likely to be gutted right here right now.

The man laughed darkly at him. "Oh Law, you have no idea what we've all suffered having you play hookie on us."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"First at the club and then at the apartment." He raised the gun and pointed it for him, sending icy prickles down Law's scalp. "Should just shoot you for it. Not like Crocodile _really _needs you anymore. He's got some other boys to play with now. Like the dark haired boy we got so much shit for nabbin'."

"What do you know about Ace?"

"That 'is name?" The man snorted, his face somewhere between amused and pissed off. "Well, whatever. He's with the big white guy."

His mouth became drier than the sands on which Kidd based his little mining operation.

_Bepo_?

"We know you're friends. He made that obvious when we picked him up," the man said with a sickly smile, answering Law's unspoken surprise. "Thought maybe you'd be more inclined to pay us a visit if we did."

"_You took Bepo, too_?!"

His voice was little more than a cat's hiss. It was one thing to take Ace, but it was quite another to take Bepo, his best friend, his first companion. In essence, his first mate.

He charged forward. He was going to strangle this man. No. Drown him in the fish tank. No. Even better: he would shoot the man with his own gun.

Regardless he howled with rage, completely oblivious to the danger that was staring him down in the form of a short metal gun barrel. The man's face changed from one of smug self-assuredness to one of shock and surprise. He fumbled his gun, nearly dropping it, and for one wicked second Law experienced a moment of clarity when he heard the telltale sound of a gun discharging.

He slid to a halt, falling back on himself and hitting the glass below with a crack. In front of him everything shifted. The man was there one moment and gone the next. There was a hole in his forehead that was not previously present.

The man he was seconds from assaulting in a stupid way that would end with his fatality staggered backwards with the impact of the bullet, the whites of his eyes blinding Law as the pupils mechanically rolled towards the back of the man's head. There was less of a splatter of red than he thought there might be, and instead there was more of an implosion of the skull, which he couldn't decide was more or less grotesque than a blood shower.

The body hit the open pool behind him, sending up a coloured spray of white, red and blue. It was quite patriotic.

The gunman sunk a few feet beneath the floor, his weight pulling him down, and then the last reserve of air in his lungs caused his bloody corpse to begin to rise, to float. The blood spilled out in tendrils, swirling and dissipating all around, turning the tank a strange reddish brown colour. It was bonding with the chemicals, becoming one with the water.

And that was about when he saw Killer. Both of them.

The shark captured his attention first and foremost, the human Killer stepping through the doorway just in time to get a good look at the shark Killer rising up from below. Dark and luminous the beast swam through the reddish brown cloud, tail flicking languidly.

Suddenly, the shark struck, grabbing the legs of the gunman and shaking him, though there was no life left to shake out. A fresh, massive cloud spilled out and temporarily obscured the view. The shark didn't understand the state of his victim and dragged the corpse down asunder, so deep that Law knew it was on the last level of the penthouse. If he went downstairs now he could likely see it tearing the man apart. Doing what he only wished he could do with his bare hands.

"_Heart_?"

He locked his eyes on dark sunglasses and a familiar polka-dot bandana. Funny how that guy had a habit of showing up unexpectedly. "Holy shit," he muttered breathlessly, his mind still on the shark. Never mind that Killer was holding a gun, which Killer had just _shot _a man with. Never mind that. The shark was fucking eating someone. Kidd's fucking shark was ripping someone to pieces and a part of him felt _fucking satisfied _knowing that.

"Didn't think I'd come in here to feed the shark," Killer said suddenly, cautiously moving towards Law. Law shook his head, still rather faint. When he reached Law he held out a hand for him to take, but he didn't receive any in return. So he touched Law's shoulder, which worked to wake him from his stupor.

"Fuck."

"Sorry you had to see that. But I figure it's better than being dead," Killer said, his bandana tugging against his face in a way that made Law wonder if he were frowning or smiling or what.

"That guy was going to kill me," Law whispered. His gut was constricting in a way that was physically painful. He felt miffed, terrified and angry all at the same time. If his emotions had corresponding colours they would be blended into a brown mush that looked like shit right about now.

"But he didn't kill you," Killer reminded him, not really helping the situation at all.

"But he was going to," Law argued, finding strength returning to his limbs when he raised his voice. He pushed off the ground and straightened his back. Killer was standing not more than a foot and a half from him, and from this angle he could see an outline through his sunglasses. His eyes. He couldn't see much more detail than a rough shape. Not a specific colour or whether or not he had long, womanly eyelashes. Zip, zadda.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Law asked. His confusion was clear on his face, his eyebrows creating more of a shadow under and above his eyes than was already present. "I thought…I thought you had gone with Kidd! Is he here too? Did something happen to him?"

Killer's blond eyebrows arched. Law dimly noted that they were refined almost like they had been tweezed or waxed. He was further baffled and distracted by this. "Wow, concerned for the big kid?"

Law shook his head, his lip curled up. Now his anger was showing through his confusion, ugly and electrically charged. "I hope he's not dead yet. He deserves a punch to the face for leaving me here defenseless."

Killer's eyebrows were sticking to his hairline. Now they were impossible to ignore. "Oh. Well then. To tell you the truth I'm a little pissed at him, too." Law could tell it was obviously an understatement. "See, he left me and a few other guys behind. I made the mistake of leaving the building only to come back and find it had been broken into. I rushed up here and found one of my people dead in the elevator and another one done in against the door. Fuck, I was careless…"

Law swallowed thickly. So Kidd had left a guard for him. He hadn't been defenseless after all. Well, not truly anyway.

"I think you saved my life," he whispered to Killer. The man cocked his head to the side slightly, sending a ripple through his long blond hair.

"Not yet I haven't," Killer said softly, like whispering was now the thing to do. Like there was a chance danger was about to resurface. Law gulped; his hunch was confirmed when the man added, "I don't know if there's more than one guy hitting this place. Heart, we have to get out of here."

"_Great_," Law yelped, his voice breaking. His thoughts turned morbid and he thought about the dead body they would have to step over to get to the elevator shaft and the other dead body that was apparently stationed _inside_ the elevator. His mind conjured up the rush of blood that would spill out when the elevator door was opened, like a dam no longer able to contain the reservoir behind it. "And how do you suppose we do that?"

"There's another way out of this building, but you're not going to like it…"

Law licked his lips skeptically. At this point, the water beneath his feet a sickly pinkish tinge, the blood diluted but still present and chilling, there wasn't much else he wanted to experience today in the horror department. "What?" he asked regardless.

"Equipment shaft. It's smaller than the elevator and hella slow, but we'll both be able to fit. Chances are it's not known to the enemy, too."

"…I think I'm going to pass out on the floor. Preferably away from the shark feeding hatch."

"Can't you make it to the car? We have to leave _now_ while we still have our brains inside our heads. Unlike that Baroque worker."

"What do you know about the Baroque?" Killer began to walk away from him. Once again his anger flared up. "Hey! I wish to know these things! Answer my damn questions!"

"Come with me and I'll answer all of your wishes as best I can, just like a magic genie. Unlike Kidd I'm not trying to shelter you here. Just get you out alive. Unless you want to stay here and potentially get killed by a second wave. It's your choice in the end."

Law didn't even need a second to weight the pros and cons. After seeing what he saw, having it imprint itself in his mind, there was no way in hell he was going to stay in the penthouse. Especially not with dead security and an unaccounted minion of Crocodile's, likely paired up with a group waiting for him to emerge from the building triumphant.

"Okay, let's go."

He followed Killer's back, very aware of the black pistol the man held at his side. Somehow, even though he'd just watched this same pistol kill someone, it appeared to him as more of a comfort than a deadly weapon. It was likely because of the man who wielded it. Killer didn't seem to bear him any ill will. Not right now at least.

As they ran down the hallway towards some unknown, Law couldn't help but want to get more out of this bizarrely dressed man. Today he was wearing another spotted blouse-like shirt, only the spots today were white and black. His jeans with the fringe of loose leather sewn into the outer seams made him appear like a cowboy. Yes, Killer was _his _cowboy. If only he had a hat. Law would have to buy him one some day. Preferably when there weren't any more crazy people out to kill the both of them.

"Hey," he said as they stopped at a corner and Killer peered cautiously around it. "Why the hell are you helping me?"

"Does a man need an answer for that?"

"It's unusual."

"That someone helps you out or that I'm a man?"

"I'm sorry about that question. The one from before…"

"I still laugh about it sometimes. Now shut up and let me concentrate."

He followed Killer, taking note of the way the man moved and checked over each hallway and door they passed. His training, so obvious, was an inspiration to Law. He found himself mirroring Killer's paranoia. How could he not?

They reached a tiny room that had a multitude of filing cabinets. On one wall Law saw what Killer had meant by small equipment shaft.

"Fuck."

Killer went over to it and slide the covering, exposing a small metal space. "Get in."

"Oh fuck no."

"Get in the fucking thing."

Law gulped and accessed himself. He wasn't claustrophobic. He just didn't like concrete rooms. This was metal. This was operated by a pulley system. He needent fear it.

That was what he repeated to himself as he ducked his upper body and crawled inside, squishing to the left. He heard rather than saw Killer punch in something on the keypad beside the shaft, and then all of a sudden Killer was almost on top of him, rushing to fit his body inside the shaft while the door automatically slide closed.

Darkness. Complete and utter darkness and the smell of a man who'd just shot another man.

Killer was sweating just as profusely as he was.

Law could feel the oversized dumbwaiter-like thing begin to descent, and even though they were in complete and utter darkness he could tell they were moving at a snail's pace. He began to count in his head, as numbers were soothing. Minutes passed in increments of six sets of ten.

Killer shifted against him, settling into the right wall more securely. "That man called you Law. Is that your real name?" he asked suddenly.

Law tensed. There was no doubt that Killer could feel his rigidness. After all, he could feel not only the man's breathing but almost his flippin' heartbeat. They were really that close.

He decided to play it off like his name and identity were unimportant, when they were indeed a way for Kidd to track him down and fucking own him if he so chose.

Something lit up the darkness, and Law blinked rapidly before realizing what it was he was seeing. Killer had a tiny flashlight on a keychain, and it was more than enough to light the small space. They could see each other again, which was more of an advantage to Killer considering Law couldn't really see much of Killer in any other situation anyway.

"Don't tell Kidd." Law flashed him a wry grin as best he could given their tight quarters. "He's lusting after _Heart_, not _Law_."

"Lusting is too weak a word for someone like him," Killer whispered back.

Law stared at Killer. It was times like these where he wanted nothing more than to rip the polka dot bandanna right off of his face and expose him. The man was too vague, and yet Law felt he knew what Killer was referring to.

"Yeah, lusting probably _is _too weak a word," he replied. He could see Killer's eyebrows knit together. Fighting vagueness with vagueness was Law's stratagem, at least until Killer cracked.

"Enamored, too."

"Indeed," Law agreed, nodding his head. True vagueness lost it's appeal very quickly when he realized he could hint at what he knew without giving too much away. "He seems to be putting me on a pedestal. Worshiping me, I mean, even though I haven't done anything particularly spectacular. Though there are moments when he seems almost withdrawn emotionally, and that baffles me just a bit. That day you almost shot me for example. He just let me go like I was nothing to him, when there have been times before when he's been…clingy."

Killer was silent for a minute, the equipment shaft scrapping down the insides of the building at the same damn pace that was absolutely horrendous to those in transit. Finally he asked, "What do you know?"

"I'm not sure."

"You know what I'm talking about," Killer returned, his voice leaving no room for vagueness anymore.

"You know about Hawkins?" Law asked, remembering the name of the psychotherapist on the paper declaring Kidd's disorder.

Killer was obviously surprised, if the hand that appeared on Law's bicep gripping his muscles firmly was any indication at all. "Did he tell you?"

Law did his best to shrug in the tight confines of the shaft, only managing to nudge Killer further against the wall, which was not appreciated and did not go unchecked. Killer pushed him back just as forcefully, making Law's cheek press against the cold surface of the metal wall.

"Don't fucking do that," Law growled.

"You know he's borderline?"

"Well, I do now, don't I? Since you confirmed it," Law said. He almost pushed back against Killer again, but thought better of it.

He heard Killer sigh. "Whatever. Not like it matters. It's just…before he left I could tell he was shifting."

Law couldn't help himself. "What do you mean by shifting?"

"He goes through phases, sometimes in a matter of seconds. He can go from apeshit crazy to sad and melancholic in just a single conversation. People are either all bad or all good to him. Lately, you've been his 'all good' and Crocodile's been his 'all bad.' Though when he didn't see you for that long stretch of time…he was so fucking mad at everything and just plain old volatile. He lashed out a few times. I bandaged up his fists twice."

Law bit his lip. He had no idea. He hadn't even noticed Kidd's knuckles, and now he wanted to see them to confirm Killer's story. "He wasn't that volatile when he saw me after that…long stretch of time. Well, he was close to killing my…_former_ boss, but he stopped himself. Well, that and I ran away so I distracted him."

"_You ran away from him_!?" Killer shouted.

"Well, yeah!" Law shouted back, making Killer wince. They silently resolved not to speak loudly. "I had to," Law continued in whisper.

"And he still trusted you enough to follow? He didn't just give up on you, thinking that you betrayed him and didn't want to see him anymore?"

"I…I guess."

"…That's incredible. You have no idea, Law."

Law stiffened at his identity being spoken aloud once more. "Please don't use my real name."

"I'm sorry."

The creaking of the shaft suddenly intensified and then the entire column seemed to shake before coming to a rest. Law's breath caught in his throat when Killer grabbed his side lightly, the light on his keychain going out.

"We're here. Get ready to run like hell, and whatever you do don't think about anything except running."

Their exit opened automatically and Law steeled himself when he saw where they were.

In the underground parkade.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> This chapter hasn't been edited as well as it could have been, especially the end, but I figured you guys wouldn't care about the occasional error so long as the chapter was actually up. I've just started uni so my free time comes and goes in a rather quick fashion but I somehow managed to finished this chapter.

I hope I still have fans out there nice enough to leave a comment after this long absence of mine xD


	16. Sixteenth Skedaddle

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><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Chapter Sixteen – Sixteenth Skedaddle_

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><p>The dank smell hit him like a slab of concrete to the face, which was quite fitting considering Law's worst fear was of being in a confined space surrounded by this type of grey matter. The dankness was almost enough to make him vomit, but Law was not given the chance to keel over as Killer had grabbed hold of his arm and was spiriting them away.<p>

"Come on! _Run!_" Killer shouted as he tugged Law into a run.

Asphalt whizzed by beneath his feet with the only break in the black monotony being his grungy sneakers slapping the ground. It was a challenge to look up. Whenever he got a glimpse of the grey concrete walls he felt himself shrivel up a little inside. Like the Grinch's heart.

That, or the feeling could be likened to swooning, which lately Law had learned far too much about.

"Fucking _run faster!_" Killer cried when he nearly lost a shoe. Really, the sneakers _were _ill fitting. He couldn't help his speed!

The hand pushing him from behind – Killer's hand – made him think two things: that he would eventually end up eating pavement and that Killer was probably going to use him as a human shield. He couldn't prove the second one, but when he tripped and found himself suddenly weightless and in the air…

Goddamn.

How did he always end up over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes? Kidd, Eddie, Killer…this was becoming a trend. If Kidd telling him to gain weight didn't influence him, this trend certainly did.

He cried out upon being hefted, but of course his words were rather unintelligible given the constant jarring motion of Killer's feet pounding the asphalt. Then there was the matter of the gunshots ringing out.

Killer had been right. They were currently under enemy fire. Worse still, when Law lifted his head from Killer's lower back he saw who it was that was firing at them. He knew that afro hair, so totally frizzed out, anywhere. He'd seen it during his childhood. She'd been new by the time he'd left that place for good, but she'd made an impression on Crocodile and on him.

Someone else, with equally frizzled hair, was present. Only he was fumbling with a suitcase while being yelled at by said partner whose shots, mercifully, were missing them both.

When they arrived outside of Killer's ominous yellow beast of a car Law wasn't sure if Killer's sprint had winded him or he was just hyperventilating as he would have on any normal day when placed in this oppressing situation with guns involved. As he was thrown up against the car while Killer unlocked the beast he shrunk down and used the car as a shield. He could hear the footsteps of the two Baroque workers pounding the pavement behind them over his haggard breath and Killer's curses. The car's side served as his protection for all of a few seconds, then he found himself shoved inside.

He stumbled face first onto the plush backseat of the car, belly down and sputtering. Killer slammed the door after him and then climbed in behind the wheel. He started the car and ripped out of his parking spot in what was almost one fluid motion. The gravitational force sent Law upright and he instinctively reached for the nearest seat belt with shaky hands, needing several tries to click himself in.

"Holy shit!"

"Don't sit up!"

He heard a metallic _thump_.

"_They're fucking shooting at my goddamn car again_!"

After that, Law pressed himself as flat against the backseat as he could, holding onto the opposite seatbelt for stability as Killer swerved into traffic. "What're we gonna do?" he cried.

Killer didn't answer him, which was just as well considering Law didn't want them to crash and figured the best way to avoid that crisis would be to have Killer completely focused on his driving. So he shut up and held on for dear life.

Overheard the sun shone down, signaling to Law that they had left the parkade. He dared to peek over the backseat and through the window. As far as he could see, there was nothing behind them of note. He ducked back down, just in case he'd been mistaken.

They carried on in relative silence, Killer swerving dangerously in and out of traffic until they eventually reached the highway leading out of town. Law was just beginning to feel his heart slow down when Killer spoke.

"Can you reach under the seat and get the briefcase under there?"

Law shakily did as he was asked, putting the heavy brown briefcase on the seat beside him. He could see it was locked and that only a numerical code could open it. "What's in this thing?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your gun."

"Your gun? Wait, _my _gun? Oh, no, no I don't think so."

He heard Killer snort. "Look, those guys firing at us were just the beginning, the ground squad so to speak. The airstrike has yet to come."

"There's going to be a fucking _airstrike_? Like, a helicopter dropping shit?"

"No, no, that's just a figure of speech. Things will get worse before they get really bad."

"That's no fucking figure of speech," Law grumbled. "Where are we going anyway? To find Kidd?"

"That's the idea. Now the code on the briefcase is 13523400. Okay? 1-3-5-2-3–"

"Wait! Why do_ I_ need the gun again? I don't even know how to shoot one."

"I never said you had to shoot it; just keep it on you for appearances and point it at people if you have to. They'll be less inclined to take a shot at you if there's an equal chance you'll shoot them."

Regardless, Law did not try to open the briefcase. It stayed firmly shut and locked as Killer continued diving around traffic, eventually launching them onto a freeway. He risked a glance over the backseat cushion and though the window. Everything seemed relatively calm out there, cars going about at the standard rate of speed and being left in Killer's dust. "They're gone?"

"See that white car that just pulled into our lane behind the red van? It's following us," Killer answered. "Keep an eye on it for me."

"Can't you outrun it?" Law asked, eying the white car that was still a distance off. Then his mind calculated the difference. It was probably a few minutes. "Well, outdrive it I mean."

"I can't believe they ruined my car…"

Law snorted and slapped the seat in front of him, producing a loud crack. "Well I'm glad you're worried about the bigger things, like a few holes in your car!"

He winced when Killer slapped the steering wheel with his palm, impaling his eardrums with a sharp crack. "Look, Law– "

"Don't use my real name!"

"_Look_, I'm watching the tire pressure gauge up here, and one of my wheels is nearly flat."

"Flat?" Law whispered, his mind freezing up. "_Flat_?"

"…And now it's _really_ fucking flat. Shit. Can't you _hear_ that?"

Law looked around the seat, trying to see the gauge for himself. All he could see was a blur of read numbers, and one of the readings looked particularly out of place. That, and Killer had the steering wheel cranked all the way to the right. Their vehicle was listing in that direction to begin with, and it was then that Law realized Killer was pulling over.

"What are you doing?" he cried as the car crunched and rumbled to a stop on the freeway, far enough towards the centre console that the two lanes to their right were vacant. A few cars passed them by, but none stopped.

Law looked behind them. They were up on an overpass, almost perfectly at the top, and he could see lanes of vehicles travelling beneath them as well as all the cars in their lanes climbing up. The white car was creeping through traffic in the distance. They had a minute or two, and Killer knew that.

The yellow beast's engine sputtered and died. Killer was in the back seat in a flash of blonde hair and clawed fingers, tearing open the suitcase in a flurry of numeracy. Law unbuckled himself and, upon freeing his hands of the seatbelt, found his fingers grasping something else that was shoved into his hands.

He nearly dropped it, but Killer's hands held his steady.

"Stick it in your pants! The safety's on, it won't discharge unless–"

"No!"

"Yes! They won't suspect it if you put it in your underwear and they'll frisk you everywhere else! Come on!"

"No! No, no, no!"

"Law, don't make this difficult!"

Law gaped at him. "You're asking _me_ to put a fucking gun–"

No sooner had his hands been rid of the gun than he found his boxer-briefs tighter than they had been before. Yes, that had happened. Killer apparently knew no bounds.

"_Oh God_."

"Don't let them know you have it, whatever you do. It's Taurus 85 Titanium, small enough that it shouldn't stand out when they force you to walk. Remember to put your hands up and surrender to them when they come get you. Just show obvious submission. They won't pull their guns in public if they can avoid it."

Miraculously, Law found his voice. "O-Oh yeah, give the striper a gun. I'd be more effective if you gave me silk panties but, ya know, shortages and all..." he trailed off, watching Killer begin to move away. "W-wait, what're you doing?"

"I'm going to escape by jumping off the overpass."

Law choked on his saliva and jumped a bit in his seat, feeling the cold metal of the gun against his skin in the worst area Killer could have possibly chosen.

Killer was half out the car door when Law grabbed him and tugged him back.

"You're going to _jump_ off the overpass? You'll fucking die!"

Killer shoved Law's hands away. "Look, they won't kill you, trust me! You have far too many uses and they know that. On the other hand, they'll _definitely_ kill me. Even if I die, I'd rather choose my death, thanks!"

And then Killer backed up and out of the car so he was just peeking into the backseat. Law couldn't judge much emotion-wise due to the man's dress, but he could see the wrinkles upon Killer's brow and how his eyebrows were nowhere in sight, signaling his concentration and anxiety.

It felt, to Law, like one of those moments in romantic tragedies where the hero leaves the heroine behind to go off to fight in a war. A war both the hero and heroine know he won't return from. Law felt he needed to say something profound, something…loving?

Killer beat him to doing anything with a curt nod and a slam of the car door.

"Wait!" Law shouted, his cry reaching nothing but the window. He scrambled to get to the door but paused, unable to open it. Not because it was too heavy or locked, but because the white car had screeched to a halt behind them and captured his attention.

He whipped his head around just as quickly to see Killer vault over the concrete slab, his blonde hair disappearing smoothly like a river over a waterfall.

That was it. He was alone and left to fend for himself.

Incredible anger overtook him. How dare Killer leave him like this! He, too, would rather die than be placed in the hands of Croc's henchmen.

Or would he? Even sitting there awaiting his sentence – though he knew he was to be bound and gagged none too gently – Law thought about the advantages of being caught. Perhaps he would be thrown in the cell next to Ace, wherever that was. Then at that point he would have at least have found him, even if they would be trapped like animals.

He could weasel his way out of a cage. He was very good at weaseling. It would not be impossible.

Of course, there was also the factor of Eustass Kidd to consider. Whatever plan Law decided on he knew Kidd would be the reckless uncontrollable variable that could either make or break their escape.

And then there was the gun. Briefly he wondered how many bullets it contained, and even more briefly, he wondered if he had the mettle to actually kill anyone with it.

He watched Pointy and Frizzled Head get out of the vehicle's passenger side. She was wearing all black leather, looking more like she belonged perched on a motorbike than inside a car. He watched her hesitate through the tinted glass, her hands drifting to one side.

He had anticipated they'd come for him armed. Still, what if they took one look at him huddled in the backseat of Killer's car and shot him dead? Just like that? Killer had assumed they would take him alive, but what if his assumptions proved false?

Law hardened his heart and pushed open the door of the backseat, unlocking it first with his fingers and kicking it wide with a foot. He could see the woman startle and her partner get out from behind the wheel. Quickly he leapt out, hands in front of his chest and head slightly ducked. Submitting.

The woman rushed to grab him with her boney fingers, pricking his arm and dragging him forward with her. He went all too willingly. The man didn't move an inch, not until Law was in the backseat of this new vehicle. Only then did he move, and that was to slide in behind the wheel once more.

"Buckle up," the woman barked at him with such audacious authority that he imagined she was used to being served without question. He obeyed with a distasteful expression that seemed to further irk her. Her impossibly painful grip on him tightened and he winced.

No sooner had he put the buckle into its keeper than they were underway. Going to wherever it was that Crocodile kept his base.

He watched the woman pull out a cell phone and dial with one hand, keeping the other one firmly attached to his arm as if she was afraid he would disappear into thin air if she didn't hold onto him. He heard the ringing of the phone until the other line was silent.

His blood chilled when he heard the muffled, "Yes?" He could still recognize that voice many years later. It was, without a doubt, Mr. 1 on the other side.

"We got one, but the blonde guy got away," the woman said, her voice slightly less authoritative than before.

"Who exactly did you get?"

The woman smiled wickedly at Law. "The little bitch. We're bringing him to the warehouse so you can see him before Crocodile does."

Law bit his lip. Did this mean Crocodile's base was split between this warehouse and somewhere else? And, more importantly, was Ace at the warehouse?

"Let me talk to him."

Law jerked as the cell phone was smashed up against his ear, and he tried to bend his body away only to have the woman's hand follow him. He was bent over as far as he could get when Mr. 1 addressed him.

"_Hello, Law_."

Law drew in a breath, but would not give him the satisfaction of replying.

"Are you enjoying being in the company of Miss Doublefingers?"

So that was her name. He remembered her for her physical attributes but her alias had slipped his mind. Though that was expected considering he had never really had much contact with her. Now he was finding that she was giving him far too much prickly contact.

Once again, he said nothing and tried, desperately, not to exhale too loudly.

Miss Doublefingers squeezed his arm and he hissed into the phone. He was close, very close, to using his other hand to get rid of her grip on his right arm. But he didn't want to end up bound with both of his hands useless. So long as she didn't perceive his left arm as a threat it was safe…

"Not answering my question won't make me go away, Law."

Law held his tongue once more. Miss Doublefingers pushed the phone up against his ear more insistently, until he could feel an indent forming for each numbered button.

"I'm offended you won't talk to me, but perhaps you'll want to talk to someone else. He claims to know you…"

Law's stomach flipped, and then Miss Doublefingers decided enough was enough and removed the phone from his ear. "Wait!" Law cried, his voice raspy. He paused, sneering at him unintelligibly, and put the phone back to his ear. What he heard next made his eyes prickly with unshed tears.

"_Law_?"

"You're alive," Law whispered. "Where are you? What have they done to you? _Ace!_"

He heard the sickening snort that characterized Mr. 1's laughter. For Mr. 1 did not laugh. He was a man who went without the finer emotions in life. "He's been keeping me company lately…"

He could tell Mr. 1 had switched them to speakerphone. He could hear amplified shuffling, and it occurred to him that Ace was likely bound and helpless to the whims of his captor. It occurred to him also that he was going to the same place, that this could be his fate in a matter of minutes.

He heard a hiss and knew it to be Ace in pain.

"You must hate me," Law said quietly into the phone.

"Why would I hate you? It's not like you're the one doing this."

The raspy voice Law heard still had its spirit in it, but just barely. He knew, very well, what it was like to be broken by someone. He could hear how close Ace was, and that killed him.

"I'm going to find you and save you," Law promised. Following his words was a snort of disbelief.

"You're going to join him," Mr. 1 growled. "Soon enough. _Miss Doublefinger!_"

The phone was yanked from his ear, his lifeline to Ace severed so quickly he could do nothing.

"What?"

He heard garbled words and then silence. The phone call was over.

His hands were balled into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. "Call him back."

Miss Doublefingers looked at him with distain, like he was a dead bug on her windshield that had left a huge, disgusting smear. "No."

He bit his lip, so close to using his left arm. No, he had to resist. Had to be complacent for now. He didn't want to be bound and gagged before arrival.

"Mr. 5, Mr. 1 wants us to go to warehouse 11."

The man driving finally spoke, his voice deep and grating. "Tha da one wi' the red numbers on it?"

"Yes," the woman barked. "You go down the dirt road and make a left. At the sign that says 'storage'."

The man grunted and exited the freeway. Before now Law had been watching Miss Doublefingers either blatantly or out of the corner of his eye. Now he turned his attention to the driver and the course ahead of them. It wasn't long until they were on a side road and, in the distance, he could see huge plums of smoke emerging from the smokestacks of a factory. It wasn't familiar at first, but when they crested a hill and he got a better look at its size and shape from an elevated height, he gapped.

Somehow he knew this factory.

It was rectangular in shape with ovalish smokestacks along the outside. He had seen it on a topographic map.

In the distance he saw machinery warehouses, which made his mind run a few calculations. Such as how fast one could reach the warehouses by running and walking as compared to driving.

His mind turned over the hidden gun and its possibilities.

What if there was only one bullet? What if he could only choose to kill either the man who was driving the car or the woman?

He decided, should he find himself brave enough, that the woman would be the first to die. He could bluff the man by putting the gun to the back of his head. He wouldn't know it was empty, right? How could someone tell?

He shifted his legs, feeling the cool metal against his skin. It was ridiculously uncomfortable, and he had long since begun to sweat thinking that sooner or later the woman next to him would notice something was not quite right with the bulge in his pants. That he was entirely too well-endowed.

Damn Killer.

The factory was drawing closer, the scenery thinning out so that only sand and the black outlines of machines remained for miles in every direction. This place really was a secluded wasteland. Why anyone would want it was beyond him. Why Crocodile would go to such lengths to rip it from Kidd's possession baffled him. Angered him.

Ace was suffering because of this idiocy.

His thoughts cycled back to the gun, for he could see Miss Doublefinger's gun attached to her belt. How was he to deal with that confound?

Wait. Two hands. Two guns. Two bullets.

In his strained state, it added up to getting even.

He ghosted his left hand down his side, lifting the hem of his sweater and delving his fingertips past the waistband of his jeans. His skin crawled with what he was doing, what he was about to do. His breath came out in even pants, his lips parted and drier than the steel his fingers brushed up against. He tentatively touched it with his fingers, feeling the gun's handle and then its stubby barrel, returning to where its trigger was. He closed his hands around the tiny handle, finger on the trigger…

He dove with his right hand for the gun in between the woman's leather pants and belt, ignoring the sudden pain of his arm receiving needles in the form of Miss Doublefingers nails. He grasped the gun's handle and drew it from its hold, moving it only a few inches so the barrel's lips were kissing the woman's abdomen. At the same time he pointed the tiny Taurus at the backside of Mr. 5's head, nestling it in his short dreadlocks.

"Move and I shoot!" he yelled, the first thing that had come into his mind.

The car rocked to the side as Mr. 5 jerked before recovering from his shock. Miss Doublefingers had shrieked, but Law's ears no longer heard anything but his own rumbling thoughts that were telling him that he was about to be fucked over in some way.

"Miss Doublefingers!" Mr. 5 cried from the front.

It seemed the prickly witch was so astonished she was unable to reply, which confirmed his suspicion that the gun was indeed loaded and the safety was either nonexistent or not engaged.

Before her sense came trickling back, Law shouted his next orders. "Pull over!"

"_What?_"

"You heard me," Law said to Mr. 5, keeping his voice remarkably calm. "I'll kill both of you otherwise."

The car didn't immediately slow down, so Law shouted his orders again, feeling stronger this time and channeling his anger at knowing Ace was suffering into his tone. He didn't tear his eyes off of the woman, but he knew Mr. 5 wasn't going to simply let her die.

Finally, it was Miss Doublefingers that brought everything to a head. "Do as he says, idiot! There's no goddamn safety on my gun!"

The car slowed. Before it stopped completely, Law said, "Don't do anything stupid or I shoot. I'll give you directions when we stop. Keep your hands on the steering wheel and keep the car running."

Mr. 5, surprisingly, did as he was told. That much Law was able to gather from his peripheral view of the man. "I want you to put your gun on the dash, then put your hands in the air and step out of the car."

This time he did turn his head so he could see more of Mr. 5. He half expected the man to turn on him with his gun and was elated to find his words were obeyed rather than questioned. A heavy revolver was dropped on the dash and the door was unlocked. He had to move quickly now. "Miss Doublefingers, get out."

The woman carefully removed herself from the vehicle, a bit too slowly for Law's liking. He scrambled out after her, keeping the gun constantly pressed against her body. The other gun he pointed at the man with his hands rather lazily up in the air, who regarded him with such apathy that Law believed he was missing something important.

The woman put her hands into the air, straight as rods of steel. She, at least, was rightfully worried about the situation.

Now that he had them both out of the car and at his mercy, what was he to tell them to do next?

Law fought to keep his facial expression from contorting and showing any other emotion besides confidence. He couldn't tell what Mr. 5 was thinking with his dark sunglasses and his ugly grimace.

His heart stopped when the man lowered his arms and reached inside his ruddy brown trenchcoat, withdrawing a flintlock revolver that looked like it had been constructed during the Golden Age of Sail. Law heard the sickening sound of it being readied for fire, and then found it pointed straight at his head.

"Boy, you should'a took the safety off yer gun."

Law frowned and focused his eyes on the Taurus. There was some sort key and chain sticking out of its top. He had a feeling this was a problem for him.

He was down to one bullet and he was in the path of fire.

"You really want her to die?"

He saw something change in the set of the man's mouth. Law had Miss Doublefingers at point blank while Mr. 5 knew his shot had a small chance of missing its mark. It was a small chance, yet it was large enough to deepen the man's frown.

Law decided to try an ultimatum. "Drop your gun and walk away and I won't kill either of you."

"Do as he says you moron!" Miss Duoblefingers shrieked. Like before, this seemed to be enough to incite Mr. 5 into action. With an ugly snort he let his gun drop into the wispy sand that was being blown about by the slight breeze.

Law held his pose, only he lowered the useless Taurus that had been the cause of a near upset to his plan. "Turn around and walk away."

Mr. 5 was hesitant at first, but at length he turned his back on the situation and began to wander off. Law waited until he was a good distance away, then returned his focus to Miss Doublefingers.

To say it was extremely satisfying to push her to the ground would be an understatement.

He made a dash for the car, well aware that before Miss Doublefingers got a mouthful of sand she had screamed as if he had actually shot her. Mr. 5 was doubling back, heading for his fallen gun. Law rounded the front of the car and dove into the driver's seat as he reached his instrument of death.

Despite never having driven a car, after getting it out of park Law got the hang of pressing the gas to go forward. The car lurched and jerked its way back towards the road, going in the general direction the road was going. He found that the steering wheel was far more sensitive than he thought it would be, and that driving a car in the same smooth fashion as Kidd or even Killer had was no easy feat. At least not for him.

All of a sudden he felt glass on his neck and lost his breath, jerking the wheel to the right as he tried to escape whatever had made the piercing noise. The rearview mirror showed him the hole where the back windshield had been, and the mess of fragmented glass in the backseat.

That was no bullet that had been launched in his direction. That had been nothing short of a goddamn bomb.

He put both feet on the gas pedal, trying to get it flush with the floor. The euphoria and terror he felt in equal spades, for he _had_ escaped a certain death, had his entire body shaking. He dared to tear his eyes away from what lay ahead to what lay behind. Looking over his shoulder showed him too figures far enough away that he felt, dare he even think it, _safe_. For now.

He breathed deeply for the first time in what felt like an hour. He was okay. He was not dead yet. Nor was he even hurt, save for the puncture wound on his arm. His pessimism convinced him it was a miniscule pain compared to whatever Ace was currently suffering.

His eyes roved he wasteland as he approached the factory. He turned the car towards the warehouses he saw towards an obvious fork in the dark dirt road. He bumbled over the sand in that direction, coming close enough to the storage sign spoken of by Miss Doublefingers to read the faded lettering. He headed left, turning too sharply and causing the vehicle to skitter dangerously in a lop-sided fashion before righting itself.

The shifting of the vehicle caused the revolver on the dash to clatter around in front of his eyes. He made a grab for it and flung it onto the seat next to him with the other guns. He had dropped both guns next to him, and only now did he give them all attention. He would need one at least, right?

He would bring all three, he decided. Just in case.

It occurred to him that wherever he stopped he would have to run for cover. He couldn't parade out in the open. It also occurred to him that he hadn't thought to confiscate Miss Doublefingers' phone.

Surely Mr. 1 would be warned of his escape from confinement. Would be told of the car, of the guns, of Law's inability to take the safety off the damn Taurus that had nearly caused his downfall.

Goddamn he needed to get rid of the car before he continued much farther. He settled on ditching it near warehouse nine. They were all lined up with even numbers in the back and odd numbers in the front. Warehouse eleven, his destination, was next to nine.

No one was around, which struck him as eerie and foreboding. There was a portentous quality to the factory, and when he stopped the car in between warehouses nine and seven, he held his breath, half expecting to hear something that would indicate life.

There was nothing but the slight breeze kicking up a thin sheen of sand.

He stuffed the Taurus where Killer had advised he keep it and took the two revolvers, one in each hand, and examined them. They would discharge at the touch of the trigger. Did he dare try to figure out how make them less dangerous?

He didn't have time, so he kept the smaller of the two guns and placed it strategically in his sweater pocket so that, if it did discharge a shot, the barrel at least wouldn't be pointed at his stomach.

When he scrambled out of the car he tossed the other revolver in the sand under the vehicle, hiding it from sight and effectively getting it away from him. Then he stood, awkwardly, and considered his next move.

Well, he couldn't stay here. And he guessed that going directly to warehouse eleven was a plan bound to fail, so he headed to warehouse seven instead.

There were a number of metal stairwells leading to various levels all down the side of the towering warehouse. He choose the second stairwell on a whim, cursing when he realized that the sand was keeping his trail obvious to onlookers. His tracks would not be covered by the whims of the wind, for it was not strong enough today.

He reached the stairwell and bolted up the metal steps to the first door on the side of the building. Drawing the loaded revolver out of his pocket, he tried the doorknob on the door.

Locked.

He cursed, looked around for any signs of life, and upon seeing none continued up the next flight of stairs to the door above. He readied himself again and tried the door.

Locked again.

He resisted slamming his fist down on the door. Instead he caught sight of a couple tin cans resting on the landing against the side of the warehouse. They were covered in a thin coating of sand, as most everything was, only these looked suspiciously like they hadn't been outside for as long as the stairs or the random planks of wood and sheet metal that he'd encountered on the other landing below.

_Idiots_, he thought as he searched the insides of the tins. Sure enough, his hunch was right. He had found a set of keys in one of them.

Triumphant, he tried the first key out of a possible three on the door. It was not the right one for the lock, so he moved on. And on. And on. Until there were no keys left to try and he was stuck with useless pieces of metal and one door that stubbornly remained locked.

This was turning out to be a real mindfuck.

He turned away from the door and his eyes were drawn to movement that made him sink back against the door and huddle into a ball to watch.

People had found the car and were searching it. One man even looked under it, which admittedly surprised Law. The revolver was found, but of course his presence was missing, yet not so very far away.

His heart pounded as he thought of the tracks in the sand.

Without waiting to see how this search of the vehicle would progress, he turned back to the door. From his knees he tried all the keys again, getting much the same result.

Angrily he glared at them, noticing for the first time the numbers engraved in them: 7-2-3, 7-2-1, and 7-3-1. Similar, yet different codes.

7. This was warehouse seven that he was trying to break into. The second floor or so to be exact. Yet none of the keys worked.

He looked to his left and then his right. To either side there was a single stairwell about thirty feet off, and he was trapped on the middle one with men down on the ground searching for him. Likely with the intention of skinning him alive.

He blinked. Three stairwells. He looked at the keys.

Well, the tracks in the sand assured him he'd be found eventually anyway. So he got up and continued up the next flight, hoping that he was on to something.

Voice filtered up through the sandy debris in the air to reach his ears. It was obvious that they'd found him, so obvious that he didn't need to look behind him to figure that much out.

He reached the top of the stairwell and spared one glance behind him. There were four men rushing his stairwell. His new pursuers.

He fumbled with the keys, finding the one he most wanted to try on the door in front of him. His hopes were all in a single key, and when he inserted it his insides clenched, for at first it wouldn't turn. Then, with a soft grating noise, it turned to the side and he heard a lock being lifted.

"Fuck, yes," Law muttered as he heaved open the door with shaky arms. Inside was dark and he dove in, closing the door after him. Sense made him lock it behind him before he advanced. He prayed there weren't multiple sets of keys floating around.

He turned to find himself in a dimly lit storage room, the expanse of which spanned what almost seemed to Law to be the length of a short street. It housed machinery, and from what he could see it afforded many, many places to hide.

On the ground floor. Where he was currently was nothing more than an observation deck with a rail to overlook the machines. No place to hid save for a lone trashcan too small to fit even his emancipated body into.

He pushed on with the pressing thought that there were people directly behind him. He jogged over to the rail and got a better look at what he was dealing with. Machinery that weights several tons was parked in the warehouse and, in the centre of this, was a gathering. At the epicentre of this gathering was a splotch of red.

His heart flipped.

Well, he now knew where Kidd had ended up.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> If this story were a train it would have gone off the tracks, down the face of a mountain, and then into the ocean after just pulling out of the station. I think that paints a picture of how I feel at this point, hah. This is NOT how I wanted the chapter to turn out…especially the end, like what the heck? Kidd?

Oh well, I will continue onward regardless, because there seems to be a lot of support out there for this…train wreck.

You are all too kind, really.

But seriously though, _Kidd_? You were not part of the original plan T.T


	17. Seventeenth Scalding

**...**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Seventeen – Seventeenth Scalding_

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><p>He found he was experiencing mixed feelings about his findings.<p>

On one hand he wanted nothing more than to throw himself off the railing and land crotch first on Kidd's face to punish him for running off so abruptly. On the other he wanted to take a sledgehammer to the head of the man who was so obviously threatening Kidd, crush his skull and then step on his face until it was unrecognizable beneath his sand-filled sneakers, and _then_ passionately kiss the redhead senseless in front of a gaping crowd.

There was also the problem of Kidd being currently tied down to a chair and held at gunpoint that really put his feelings into a downward spiral.

Damn that man for messing with his emotions. He was here to save Ace, not to experience his toes curling in anger over the sight of Kidd bound and helpless and completely at the mercy of men.

He moved back from the rail upon hearing a sound. Pounding on the door he had just ventured through. His pursuers had caught up to him.

He darted down the length of the warehouse, all too aware that his footfall echoed throughout the cavernous space. Surely those below would hear him and wonder what was going on above? He had to find a hiding place, and fast.

As he was running he noticed a red light illuminated over a double gray door. Slowing, he recognized it to be an elevator.

That was as good as it was going to get.

He reached the closed doors and pounded the button to go down. The doors opened without delay, the elevator having been already at his level. He jumped in automatically and punched in his destination with such force that the buttons lit up and then unlit themselves in an instant, and he had to repeat his actions to get the damned thing to start moving.

As he began his descent, Law was surprised to find his mind was not focused on his predicament but on Kidd's predicament. He couldn't deny the fact that he felt distress not only for himself but for Kidd. He also realized that he had a conscience that was perhaps more or less making his decisions for him, because he was sure his brain was not doing the operating any more.

He would fucking rescue Kidd's sorry ass; that his conscience informed him.

He was going to fucking die rescuing Kidd's sorry ass; that his brain assured him.

When the elevator opened he darted to the nearest hiding place, streaking across the expanse of open concrete and metal to reach the machinery that was packed in tightly. Now that he was down in the belly of the warehouse he could see it was more of a factory that had been converted into a storage area. Half of the machines looked to be intact, but what they produced Law couldn't fathom. It all looked like gears, conveyer belts, vats, and metal bits to him. He betted Kidd knew what everything was.

Kidd. Kidd was beyond the machinery in a clearing of sorts, though Law couldn't really liken the warehouse to a meadow surrounded by trees. There were no chirping lovebirds here or swaying flowers. There was nothing romantic at all about this situation. Yet it was here that Law knew he'd decide whether or not he would ever come to love the bastard. He just knew it was judgement time; it was an undeniable gut feeling.

The butterflies in his stomach started fluttering uncontrollably when he edged close enough to see flaming red hair and broad shoulders.

_Oh God, _Law thought in sudden despair, _He's like a tumour that has been growing in me undetected. He's going to literally cost me my fucking life cause I can't bloody well remove him at this point._

He was crouched behind the oversized tire of a grater, and trying to remove the gun from his jeans only to find that he had to unzip his fly and reveal his tighty whiteys to do so. When he finally got his little pistol out he examined the chain that was connected to a key. He recalled that it was the safety mechanism and began to fiddle with it until he got the key out. Was that it? Did he unsafe the damn thing?

The only way to tell would be to shoot it off.

He crept closer, close enough to see what was going on clearly but not to hear what was being said. He could tell, however, that the conversation was bordering on the edge of becoming violent. Unless of course these fellows he was planning on somehow dispatching normally shouted and waved their arms and guns around like lunatics when talking with people.

From this angle Law couldn't tell what was holding Kidd to the chair. He prayed it wasn't handcuffs behind his back, but at this point plain old rope wasn't much better. He could see six men from his hiding place a good twenty feet off, but his pessimism said that there had to be others around the warehouse. Others that would pick him off when he made his move.

He had to be smart about this.

Or at least that's what he thought before the explosion blew shit up.

The suddenness of seeing half the building collapse and the sound deafening him left his lungs without air and his chest without a working heart. He could only watch as the platform he had been standing on minutes before hoping into the elevator was knocked to the ground by the level above it along the roof, which fell in to leave a gap where the sun shown through the dust particles.

Law swallowed his shock, ignoring the debris that continued to fall from the roof, the hole in the far left side of the warehouse roof inching closer to him, widening as more beams fell down on the machines. The sickening crunching of wood and metal spurred him on and he began to run, no longer focused on keeping his cover.

The men, he found, had all but fled. Two remained, trying to figure out a way in which to take Kidd with them. The rest were obviously self-interested, paid off by Crocodile to do one job and one job only, and it was not in that job description to hang around while shit was getting blown up around them.

Law raised his gun. He couldn't hear a thing after the explosion, the ringing in his ears informing him that he'd become indifferent to sound. His mind prayed it wouldn't be permanent, but for now he had other things to worry about. A beam plummeted to the earth near him, too close for comfort. He could have been impaled by it had he stopped to think about what he was doing.

So he surged forth as if on the back of a tidal wave. Kidd saw him first. The recognition and following angry eyebrow-less glare of doom made Hell all worthwhile. He had totally pissed Kidd off for coming to his rescue. Oh, Law was planning to never let the bastard forget this damsel in distress moment.

He raised the gun and tried to aim while running, finding it impossible, and so stopped and fired his first shot from a considerable distance. He missed horribly, but he had the attention of the two men trying to whisk their hostage away so he shot again. The bullet embedded itself in a nearby tire, popping it. The machine it was attached to began to shift dangerously, becoming a further cause of alarm.

The two men took off running despite the fact that Law could see they had guns themselves. He didn't care. He had reached Kidd only to find it was indeed rope rather than handcuffs he had to deal with.

It was times like these where his skills as a stripper really came in handy.

Yes, he had considerable knot-tying skills. It was a fucking _talent_ to be able to tie up a man and hang him like a fucking art piece from the ceiling of a strip club on BDSM night, which happened every two weeks on the Friday. Knots were nothing to him. Kidd was loosed in no time flat.

But boy, the second he loosed Kidd and the damned man seized his shoulders, not for the purpose of kissing him passionately but to yell at him, Law began to regret untying the bastard.

Law shook his head and pointed at his ears as Kidd unleashed a torrent of what Law could only grasp as terrible, horrible things from his pale lips. He couldn't hear a damn thing, gesturing to his ears first and then to the bloody roof debris falling down to their left but rapidly getting closer to their location.

"You fucking idiot, we have to get out of here!" Law screeched, not entirely sure how loud he actually was in the chaos. "Let go of me! _Hey_!"

Kidd was so obviously deaf, too, that Law did the only thing he could think to do in such a situation. He threw his arm back, gathered all his force and willpower, and slapped Kidd, _hard_, right across his bright-red-from-yelling-like-a-moron face.

He regained his breath as Kidd cradled his cheek, his mouth wide open and gaping so that the dust swirling all around them floated into it to seek shelter. When he finally closed his mouth Law had regained breath enough to grab Kidd by the collar of his shirt. All around them now the roof was caving in, dropping beams and shingles like clouds drop rain. Law decided, then, that their first order of business since their fated reunion would be to seek sanctuary from the storm.

He dragged a visibly stunned Kidd a few feet at a jog and then found a suitable hiding place under a mega-sized dump truck. At first Kidd wouldn't follow him under, but a splintered block of wood that nearly landed across his toes convinced him otherwise.

So there they were, safe under their truck, while the whole world came down around them.

"This is the fucking end," moaned Law. Kidd squinted at him. Both were on their stomachs, though there was enough space between the underbelly of the vehicle and the ground to partially sit up. Still, Law wanted to shrivel up like a leech in the sun so he was as small as possible. There were still people out there with guns that were very much willing to kill him since he had direct influence in the escape of their redheaded ex-hostage.

Damn. He should have just turned around and went for Ace instead.

Kidd spoke to him but at Law's blank stare finally realized that Law was just as deaf as he was.

"You dumb fuck," Law said with a straight face. A bunch of debris landed near their vehicle, nails and shingles splattering outwards. Some created a bit of a shield on their side, for which Law was grateful. "You stupid, stupid idiot," he continued. Kidd simply blinked at him, his face as blank as before. "I bloody hate you. I think you're a high and mighty asshole and I'm glad you finally get to taste the dirt because that's what I taste every fucking day. You know, I'm really fucking mad at you. I think you're a fucking turd for running off on your own just to play the fucking hero. A real piece of shit, that's you. And not just any shit, you're fucking cow shit. That's right, cow shit. _Fucking cow crap._"

Kidd mouthed something to him that oddly enough resembled an apology, but Law couldn't exactly read lips and confirm this. The only thing he had to go by was the soft, almost delicate kiss Kidd placed on his cheek. Then Kidd wrapped an arm around Law's back and wriggled closer, nuzzling into Law's neck.

Law was speechless, which didn't affect to any degree the fact that they were still deaf and cowering while a building feel down on top of them.

Kidd was entirely too calm for this type of situation.

Then he realized, vaguely, that his hearing was returning. He could hear the pitter-patter of debris raining down on their haven, could even hear, albeit faintly, Kidd's heavy breathing next to his ear.

"I'm so, so sorry Heart."

He could hear that. It became impossible to pass off as a sensory hallucination when Kidd kept repeating it over and over and over again. His deep voice filled Law's mind, along with the crunching and grinding of the warehouse as it crumbled.

And then it was quiet save for a few renegade chunks that fell from above, and Kidd's voice was the only thing he heard, and his warmth was the only thing he felt as Kidd flipped him over onto his back and crouched over him.

Exhaustion hit Law and he let Kidd kiss where he would have normally had tear marks under his eyes and take both of his wrists to pin above his head. No, not pin; Kidd's fingers fit in between his own and his eyes bore into his, searching for Law's very soul.

That deep, longing look lasted only as long as Kidd's self-control. In other words, it was not long at all before Kidd's lips were on his and his tongue was in Law's mouth, making sure to taste him thoroughly. And, goddamn, Law kissed him back, euphoria filling him as he realized the plain and simple fact that he was still alive.

Kidd eventually broke their kiss, leaving a trail of saliva that momentarily connected them. "So you think I'm a cow turd?"

Law pursed his lips. Shit. Kidd had heard that much. How much _had _he heard? "I think you're a cow turd," Law whispered.

"What?" Kidd asked, turning his head to indicate his ears were still recovering.

"I think you're a fucking cow shit!" Law shouted, and Kidd heard him then as he reared back and hit the top of his head on the underside of the truck. His spat curses out while Law flopped over and wriggled out from under Kidd. The explosion had made his mind foggy, but now he was back on his mission. One man down, one to go. He still had to retrieve Ace.

The first step to achieve this, he knew, was getting out of the warehouse before the gunmen came back to see if they could confirm their deaths by debris.

Law crawled out from under the truck, Kidd hot on his heels and protesting all the while. Law was hesitant when he saw the degree of damage. The left side of the warehouse was indistinguishable, just a solid mass of _stuff_. The right side, where their truck was located, was heavily damaged but not entirely ruined.

"The fuck are you wearing? Running shoes?" Kidd asked.

Law turned to him with a look of disbelief plastered across his face. "I know I'm a fucking stripper but I can't _always _wear the kinkiest high heels I can find! Give me a goddamn break."

It was Kidd's turn now to give Law a look of disbelief, which indeed rivaled the disbelief of Law. "What? No! That's not what I meant! Your shoes wont stop nails from piercing your feet whereas my boots will. Come here, I'll carry you…"

Law, mouth open, shook his head slowly and deliberately. "No. I can fucking walk on my own two legs."

"You can fucking walk for now, but when you get a nail embedded in your foot or toe or whatever, then you're not going to be much of a walker and I'll be stuck carrying you until we leave this fucking place. Now get on my back."

As much as Law didn't like to admit it, Kidd was right. He was wearing steel-toed boots that offered much more protection than Law's sneakers ever could have, even in their glory days.

So he took one last look around the place, which was all dust and rubble, and nodded that he understood. The reason for the explosion was no more clear than it was before. It was clear, however, that they needed to leave as soon as possible. He just hoped there wouldn't be people waiting on the other side of the wall.

Kidd dipped down just low enough that Law could jump up onto his back. As much as Law didn't like the idea of piggy-backing, he was smart enough to know Kidd was right and that the chances of him stepping on a nail and getting tetanus were remarkably high given the amount of shingles that had been deposited on the ground all around them.

Still, that didn't mean he simply went along with the whole thing.

"Giddy up, ass." Law kicked his heels into Kidd's thighs. "Ya!"

"So now I'm your donkey," Kidd grumbled, uncomfortably jostling Law by lurching forward suddenly and hiking over a pile of metal plating that had fallen from the roof. He felt Law's arms tighten around his neck with such propensity that he grinned. Once a pole dancer always a pole dancer.

Law was, as always, light as could be, and Kidd crossed the danger zone in no time even with the liability of a body on his back. Law had been hoping Kidd knew his way around his investment and he wasn't disappointed; they found themselves contemplating how to go about opening the door to the outside world of sand. For it was locked.

"Stand back, I'll try to break it open," Kidd said, depositing Law on his feet once more.

Law shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Wait, I have keys!"

"Which ones?" Kidd asked, skeptical. Law thrust them into his hands. Kidd hastily checked the numbers on them, and Law felt his head grow light when Kidd shook his head. "These are for the opposite side. There's no way we're going over there. It could collapse at any moment."

Law rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the dust from his tear ducts. "Hell this whole place could collapse at any moment, Kidd."

Kidd grunted and continued his examination of the metal door that Law knew was several inches of steel too thick for any one man to kick in. Then, much to Law's amusement and horror, Kidd braced himself on one leg and did in fact kick the door. Nothing happened, and Law felt like laughing in that way people laugh when they're so exasperated and at the end of their ropes. Kidd, occasionally, struck him as a child.

"Hey, Mr. Eustass! Heart!"

Law turned. No. There was no way that the guy running towards them was Eddie Heat. But, yes, it certainly was because Law didn't think there were many guys around that wore dreadlocks quite the way Eddie did. And boy did those dreadlocks bounce as Eddie raced over to them.

Law found himself squished between Kidd and the wall, and it occurred to him that Kidd was using his body as a shield. Cute.

Eddie came to halt, out of breath and unable to speak. Not that it mattered considering Kidd was so pissed off that Eddie was unable to get a word in.

"The fuck are you doing here? I thought I told you to go back! And why did you run across the whole place, you probably just gave away our position! You idiot!"

Eddie caught his breath and sidled closer to them, and Law didn't miss the way Kidd backed up into his body to further protect him. It was too possessive not to be noticed.

"Wire and I were tracking you, Heart," Eddie finally said. Law stood on his tippy-toes to see over Kidd's shoulder, his eyebrows raised. "Killer gave you the gun, and I know you've still got it on you. Still…to think you saved our boss. Thank you!"

Here Eddie was getting that strange look in his eye that told Law he was bedazzled by his charm as a miracle worker. It was so strange, now that Law reflected on it, that Eddie would act so enamoured by his abilities, especially since when he'd first encountered Eddie he'd been nothing but short, snappy and rather rude. Then again, he _had _been freshly shot in the stomach at the time of their first meeting.

Kidd turned to him, "You have a gun?"

Law bit his lips and unzipped the fly of his jeans, withdrawing the terribly awkward pistol that had been jabbing and abusing him for much too long out into the open. "Yep."

"You hid the gun in your crotch?" Kidd asked, shock making him unhinge his jaw. "So _that's _the hard thing I felt when I climbed on top of you. I had thought it was, well, you know."

Eddie stared on, slightly perturbed by the words that had come out of his boss's mouth. Law simply rubbed at his temples. He had such a headache, not just from the explosion, but from this whole debacle.

His nerves were fried and he hadn't gotten any closer to achieving his mission. "Fuck," he muttered. Kidd and Eddie turned to him so expectantly he thought it only fair to elaborate. "Look, I came here to rescue someone." At this Kidd visibly perked. "And believe it or not it isn't _you_," Law concluded, making Kidd grow all at once confused, angry and just a touch green with jealousy.

Eddie took a substantial step back when Kidd glared at him. "H-hey, he didn't come for me!"

"I have to go," Law declared. Kidd stepped in front of him. "Move."

"You mean that Ace guy?" hissed Kidd.

Law glowered and blew hot air from his nostrils, feeling very bull-like now that Kidd was getting in his way. "Ya, 'that Ace guy' is the guy I came to rescue."

Kidd's glower deepened. "That fucking Ace guy is the reason I got caught and that fucking Ace guy is going to get the police involved in this shit."

Law felt his heart flip. "What? What happened? Where is Ace?"

"Ace left. He ran for it," grumbled Kidd.

"He…ran away?" Law asked, perplexed. That did not sound like the headstrong Ace he knew. "Was he hurt? I don't believe he'd just take off and leave you…"

"I told him to," Kidd growled. "I also told him _not_ to get the police involved in this, but he told me there was no way he was going to let me die here and that he had 'connections', whatever that means. Fucking moron. He probably got killed running out of here."

Law clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. Only when he was sure he wasn't going to explode did he open his mouth.

"You fuck."

Kidd blinked at him and touched his ear as if he wasn't sure if his hearing had come back to him in its entirety. "_What_?"

"Nothing you dummy," said Law, just to further piss off Kidd. Much to his surprise, however, it did not work as he thought it might. Kidd instead took a step forward and seized Law by his shoulders, then leaned in to kiss him. When Kidd pulled away it was Law's turn to ask, "_What_?"

"I just love you so much," Kidd said in that infuriatingly simple way he often conveyed things. "Nobody stands up to me and calls me a dump fuck or cow turd."

"_What_?" Eddie asked, bewildered.

"Shut up, Eddie, or I'll break your nose," Kidd growled. Eddie nodded with a tiny grimace to suggest that Kidd's abuse was commonplace. "I want you to take Heart with you and get out of here. Take the back roads around the side of the main plant."

"Sure boss," Eddie mumbled.

Law squared his shoulders and looked Kidd in the eye. "Where are you going?"

"To take down a lizard," Kidd grumbled.

Law didn't know why, but all of a sudden he pounced on Kidd, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. "Don't you fucking dare. Leave him to the police. Let's get out of here!"

He was surprised when Kidd wrapped his thick arms around him and crushed him to his chest. His face went red, and he could see Eddie off to the side casually looking away. As if that made it any more private.

"Are you _really _okay with that?" Kidd asked. "Because I'm not."

Law took a deep breath, trying in vain to curb his anger. It was creeping up, painting his neck and cheeks red. "No. Don't even go there. How could I be _okay _about anything related to _him_?"

"Right, which is a small part of the reason why I'm going to get rid of him," Kidd grumbled. "It's personal for me, too."

"I know that, but you're being stupid here."

"_I'm _the one being stupid?" Law nodded. "Well, fine. Eddie, grab him. Don't let him go."

Law jumped as Eddie seized him by the arm. "Come on, Heart."

Kidd took the opportunity to stalk off and Law watched him go across the rubble to the other side with the key chain, not intending to give chase. Eddie had him in an iron grip. Besides, the best tactic was to wait for Kidd to be unaware of him, and that was achieved by waiting.

He let Eddie steer him towards what Law assumed was another exit they could try. As soon as Kidd was out of sight, however, getting rid of Eddie became the focus of Law's world.

There was no fucking way he was going to let Kidd have the satisfaction of dealing with Crocodile. The satisfaction belonged entirely to him, not Kidd.

"Eddie, let go of me," Law said sternly, giving his arm a shake. Eddie wouldn't budge.

"Don't get me fired and cause my death, please," Eddie said quickly. "Kidd will seriously kill me if I fail him. He's not exactly a nice guy if you get on his bad side, and you're just the thing that could cause him to _explode_."

"I am not a _thing_, I am a person who really wants their freedom, so let go," Law growled. "Now tell me Eddie, what exactly is Kidd going to do when he finds Crocodile? Huh?"

"How should I know?" Eddie cried, stopping momentarily as Law dug his heels into the debris. It was less severe so over where they were now, but Law could still pick out pointy things that could cause him injury. Luckily they were highly visible for the most part, and Eddie was picking his way carefully over them. "Mr. Eustass will probably attempt to kill him. But we have really good lawyers so…Angel?"

"Not my name, nor is Heart," Law snapped. "Now let go before I get nasty. You should be more afraid of me than Kidd."

Eddie stared at him as if to question his statement. It was enough to throw Law over the edge, and without hesitation he twisted his body around, brought his leg up, and did a dramatic kick outwards with a flourish of his heel. Very pole dancer-esque. His heel was forced into the fleshy area just beneath Eddie's ribs, and with a gasp of pain Eddie let go of his arm. Then, Law bolted. Because running was also something he was superb at.

He ignored the panicked cries behind him and took off in the direction Kidd had gone, no longer overly concerned about contracting tetanus. He would be more than willing to saw off both his feet in return for Crocodile's agonizing death if it came to that. It was his hands he wasn't willing to lose, as that would put his dream in jeopardy.

He located the doorway Kidd had passed through. As was Kidd's style when angry, he did not turn around to close the door after him, and Law spilled out into the desert, his shoes sinking into the sand. He worked harder to gain speed as traction decreased and every step he took he tried to widen his strides. Losing Eddie was far too easy; the man was not built for running, clearly. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him straggling behind, becoming bogged down in the sand while Law was like a gazelle. An admittedly carnivorous gazelle with a taste for lizard blood, but a gazelle nonetheless.

The tracks in the sand told him exactly where Kidd was headed and he followed them doggedly. They led him to another open door of yet another warehouse, only it looked like this one had some sort of office building above it. He was fairly certain this was the headquarters for this particular place. The huge logo splashed across the side of the building in bold, almost obnoxious script indicated he was probably right. Kidd did, after all, have a preference for the obnoxious and bold, especially when it came to colours and patterns.

He went inside and slowed to a crawl as the sand disappeared, knocked off the bottom of Kidd's boots until there was no trail left to follow. Law looked around, taking in the large columns and heavy machinery. This place seemed to be more dangerous than the last. There was a lot of steel, very shiny, sharp looking steel in some places. Looking up at a conveyor belt and the gears cranking away Law was rather sure his body could easily be torn in two and then cubed and boxed up. Here was a place where large beams of steel were shorn and cut and modified via chambers of fiery flames.

It was quite the intimidating place, even with most of the machines currently inactive.

Law made his way past a tower that had toothy levers sticking out of it and continued down the stretch of concrete that was something of a path between the machines. It branched off into several different ones and Law stopped to stare at each in turn. Which one was the right one? Had Kidd even come down this way?

Sudden blinding pain around his neck, choking him, and Law realized he'd been nabbed from behind. He jabbed an elbow backward but it felt like he'd hit a steel plate. "Kidd!?" he screeched, but got no answer. "Eddie?" Still nothing.

It dawned on Law as a thick arm came around his neck, starving him of oxygen, that it was neither Kidd or Eddie that had found him. No, this was someone else. Someone who wanted him dead.

The colour drained from his face when he heard the man's voice in his ear. "How did I know you were going to show up, Law?"

The chilly, metallic tone sent the hairs on the back of Law's neck to attention, standing erect as could be. He gasped for air, his hands trying to pry the arm off of his neck, and found his feet kicked out from under him. He slumped to the ground, finally seeing the face he had dreaded to see again.

"You've grown so much, you little bitch," grumbled Mr. 1. His muscular fingers wrapped around Law's thin throat and squeezed, bringing tears to his eyes that he rapidly blinked away. "I don't think I'll let Crocodile have fun with you any more. I think it's my turn to have fun with you. By using you as my punching bag."

Law knew the telling signs of faintness. Still, he felt when Mr. 1's fingers wrapped around the two earrings on his left ear. He felt a sharp pain.

"I should rip these out," Mr. 1 hissed. "Make you bleed."

Unexpectedly, Mr. 1 let up on Law's windpipe before it was crushed, and Law sucked in breath enough to fill a hot air balloon. He lay under the broad frame of this man panting and bleary-eyed, not entirely sure if he should even waste energy trying to fight him off. He was doomed, fucking doomed.

Fucking Kidd, where was he?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to smash your face in and crush every bone in your body, just for being the boss's special pet."

Oxygen deprivation made Law light-headed and, as a result, a fool. "So, you were jealous?"

Mr. 1 cuffed him in the side of the head, and it was like being hit by a freight train. "And now you're Eustass Kidd's little slut. You didn't change much, did you?"

Law swallowed, tasting his own blood sliding down his throat. He'd bitten his cheek, and he could feel the jagged cut with his tongue. Regardless, he was not so much a bitch as to just roll over and take this man's abuse. "Oh, I changed. Kidd's a much better man than Croc ever was. You haven't changed. You still follow Croc around like his little personal bitch. Always have. More than me. I was his bitch in name _only_."

Mr. 1's normally impassive face contorted into the most disgusting of shapes, all hard contours and wrinkles. Law could feel the air moving out of the way of Mr. 1's fist, but before he could land a blow there was a flash of white and grey. Law flinched and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for impact, and heard the curious sound of a hollow, deep _smack_.

His eyes flew open the moment there was no more weight covering his body. Who he saw standing there with a beam over his shoulder, smirking triumphantly, made his mouth go dry.

"18 inch lead pipe. Has sufficient weight and force while maintaining versatility," said Bepo with an exhausted huff. He then let the pipe drop from his hand to the concrete, rattle and roll away. Law was shakily helped to his feet, but he let go of Bepo's hand to take a step back, emotions flooding him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Bepo. I can't believe you're here. Didn't I tell you not to come after me?"

"But it's a good thing I did," Bepo said in all seriousness. "Law…you should have told me. You can't just go ahead by yourself forever! You pushed me away once before, and look what happened that time! And now this! You were going to be killed!"

Guilt flooded Law and his knees buckled, but he recovered in time to give Bepo a big bear hug. "Thank God, you big bear, you. I don't know what I would do without you."

"I know," Bepo said, wrapping his arms around Law's back. "Besides, you can't really say that I shouldn't be here. Mr. 1 was _mine _to get."

Law looked over at the crumpled heap on the ground, his heart fluttering. Blood pooled around the body, concentrated at the head. Law had no doubt that the man was still alive, but without medical attention the question was simply for how long.

Law turned away. "Crocodile's mine. For what…he did. I'm going to make him suffer. I don't care that it makes me seem like a vengeful idiot and it's a stupid, life-risking thing to do, I just–"

"No, I understand," Bepo said with a great, laborious sigh. "Just…let me come with you this time?"

"Yeah," Law whispered, nodding weakly. "Just…try not to get hurt? I couldn't stand losing you."

"Just as I couldn't stand losing you," Bepo retorted. "Seriously Law, you're my best friend!"

Law couldn't help himself. His lip started to wobble and he threw himself at Bepo again, if only so Bepo didn't have to see the tears gathering on his eyelashes. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."

"Not even that Kidd guy?" Bepo asked as he squeezed Law and patted his back in an effort to calm him.

"Kidd has his perks, but you're my number one!"

Bepo let out a guttural grunt. "I'm going to stop you before you get too gushy on me."

"…Thank you, Bepo. Much obliged."

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> I know what you were all thinking reading this (very late) chapter. "Reiki's going to make them have sex under the truck! She's going for the Most-Awkward-Place-And- Time-To-Have-Sex Award!"

I am so very sorry to inform you all that Law took the original script from me and burned it, perhaps for the above stated reason. That's why it took so long to get this chapter up. My sincerest apologies. Plus Eddie was doing weird things for the longest time, so eventually I had to just get rid of the poor guy. Sorry Eddie.

Also, Bepo feelings for some reason. *Gush* And Law's new wardrobe? Fabulous. Always knew he was a stripper by night. Always knew it.


	18. Eighteenth Error

...

* * *

><p><strong>A Dance for Two<strong>

_Eighteen – Eighteenth Error_

* * *

><p>Law watched Bepo's gaze narrow at him as they crouched behind some sort of black rubber conveyor belt, gathering their wits together after they were shattered earlier by Mr. 1's sudden appearance.<p>

"You should really take those out," Bepo said, nodding at him sagely as if that was the only thing required for Law to know what he was saying. Law blinked for several seconds before realizing where his right hand had subconsciously gone. His fingers were fiddling with the golden hoops in his right ear, spinning them through his earlobe as he thought deeply about what they should do next.

Law sighed; he should have known. Bepo often bugged him about his earrings, and he always gave his bearish friend the same answer. "They're a reminder of what I was, what I am, and what I never hope to be, all in one. They have a lot of meaning, Bepo. Besides, it all ends here."

"That's what I hope," Bepo grumbled. "I don't know what you're planning to do next. How are we going to get to him first when Kidd's already ahead of us?"

"Trust me, Bepo. Crocodile's not stupid enough to put himself into an enclosed space. He'll make sure he has lots of tricky escape routes. We just gotta figure out where the crocodile's gonna come out of the sewer…"

"Easier said than done," Bepo whispered. "Could be anywhere! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to find _you_?"

"Don't worry, I've already figured out where…" Law trailed off, pointing his chin to their right. "Unless he's going to escape this place by air, he's going to have to get a vehicle. And that right there, Bepo, is an attached garage full of cars. Chances are this is where he's going to end up if he needs to flee the scene."

"You seem sure of yourself," whispered Bepo.

"This is no place for doubt and uncertainty in this sort of situation. Which is why I want you to stay here. I'm going on ahead."

"Even after all that's happened!?" Bepo cried. "B-but–"

Law withdrew the gun he had hid away, flashing it in front of Bepo. "I'm going because I have to, because Crocodile won't kill me. He may try like he did in the past, but–"

"Crocodile left you to die in that room!"

Law shook his head. "No. If he wanted me dead, he could have killed me several times. But he didn't. And I'm willing to bet my life on this: I can kill him, but he can't quite bring himself to kill me."

"Why?"

"Does it matter why?" Law leapt to his feet behind their cover. "Bepo, let's go. There's nothing to gain by staying here. Unless you want to be left behind to guard the entrance."

Bepo met his eyes, steely determination on his face. "Which is more beneficial to you?" Law felt his jaw go slack. "It's better if I stay behind, right? I can't run as fast as you, and I can't climb things either. Plus you said yourself this is the escape route _he'll _most likely use. So I'll stay here, shoot him if he comes this way. But I know you feel like you have to do this on your own."

Law blinked back his emotions before they could blur his eyesight. "Bepo…thank you. I'll see you in a bit. Count on it." And then he forced a smile and left their cover, as staying any longer would only waste valuable time.

Truthfully, continuing by himself was a relief. He had been more than glad for Bepo's sudden appearance, but now that blood had returned to his brain he was thinking how horrible it would be if Bepo had gotten hurt. He didn't want to see Bepo hurt. Bepo was his brother in arms, sure, but that didn't mean Law wanted Bepo fighting where it was dangerous.

As he ran through the warehouse, ducking around corners and hugging walls with the warm steel of his gun in his palm, Law flexed his body and found that his limbs had become numb. He knew his thumb was wrapped around the trigger of the gun, but he couldn't feel it. How was he going to shoot Crocodile if he couldn't feel a thing?

The adrenaline was getting to him and, when he realized this, his vision became clearer and he became aware of how stiff his body really was, how far he had pushed himself. He had made it to the back of the warehouse, in a final cavernous room where steel machinery towered above him and gears of various sizes glittered in the faint light coming through the dusty windows. He lightly made his way forward, conscious of the metallic clinking of the loose grates under his sneakers. He heard footsteps and voices and hurried to a row of strung up hacksaws along a wall, blending in between them and a stack of steel tubes.

His hand holding the gun trembled violently, and he steadied it with his other hand, when he caught sight of Kidd. He was close enough to make out the details of his jacket, but far enough away to be rendered helpless when a shot rang out. His heart sunk as he saw Kidd drop to the ground, and rose again when he realized Kidd had merely ducked. The white gaseous steam rising from a long cylindrical container behind him had been hit instead.

He refrained from calling out to get Kidd's attention, instead blowing his cover by standing up to take aim at the brownish shape that his gut told him was his target.

He fired his first shot in the direction of Crocodile just as the ground started shifting. He wobbled with the backfiring of the gun and moved amongst the plates of metal that trembled as the factory's machines came to life. His eyes darted around the metallic landscape, picking out Kidd's bright red hair amongst all the brown and black and dirty chrome. From the looks of the panel near Kidd, this seemed to be part of the man's original plan before he noticed Law's presence.

Watching Crocodile go tumbling to the ground from his perch on an overhead belt that carried metal tubes to be soldered and assembled would have been priceless had Law not found himself under attack. Overhead hooks and mechanical arms grabbed the nearby tubing he'd been using for cover and spun them around closer to his head than he would have ever liked.

He flattened himself to his stomach, eyes up to see Kidd start towards him, alarm on his pale face. He saw Crocodile get up from the ground and make a lunge for Kidd before Kidd registered the movement, and watched as Kidd was flattened against the cylindrical container of gushing steam, denting it further.

The gleam of Crocodile's golden hook gave Law more than the shivers and he hesitated pulling the trigger just enough that the gun went off nowhere near either Kidd or Crocodile. He cursed and scrambled to his feet, very much aware of how Kid appeared redder than usual.

He did not want to think of the brutality of Crocodile's hook or the blood gushing down Kidd's face, only how he was going to end this and fast.

Since his aim was terrible, he decided the best course of action would be to rush Crocodile and shoot him at point blank. Sans bullets unfortunately was not a factor in this plan until he pulled the trigger on the gun only to find none of the usual noise and kickback.

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd managed to get in a shot at the man's head; he was too shaky now to point the gun straight anyway. He was bound to miss. The adrenaline had worn off upon seeing Crocodile's angered face. Now he felt paralyzed with the same fear that he hadn't felt since the incident in the cellar. The skin on his back crawled and his limbs suddenly weakened, gravity intensifying.

"Heart!"

That irritating euphemism for his name grated his fried nerves and he blinked the fogginess from his eyes. Kidd was calling out to him, and his legs automatically drew him closer to the man pinned by Crocodile's equally formidable figure.

Law threw himself at the two of them, bringing the barrel of the useless gun down on Crocodile's shoulder, as he moved his head away to avoid a good slugging. Kidd lost his footing as Law took their enemy off balance, and Law realized why Kidd's face was one of anguish when he saw the point at which the two men had connected. Crocodile's hook was sunken deep into Kidd's left arm.

He knew how shark Crocodile kept his hook. He'd felt it slice through his skin like a hot knife through a stick of butter, and he could only imagine how excruciating being hooked by the man would be.

As they fell together in a heap, Law positioned himself so he had a knee on Crocodile's breastbone and a hold of Kidd's arm. He used the momentary leverage to rip Kidd free, but at the cost of getting a heavy blow to his cheek from Croc's good arm.

Kidd staggered away clutching his arm while Law covered his bruised jaw and let out a long wheeze at the pinching pain. He could tell it wasn't broken, at least not yet. Crocodile had set on him, all snapping maw and furious eyes.

"You little shit!"

Law kicked at the man's stomach, trying to inflict damage while simultaneously trying to edge away from the man and his dangerous claw. Crocodile grabbed his tattered jeans and pulled him in, using his hooked forearm to hold him down.

"Should have finished you when I had the chance," snarled the man. "But you're done for now, _Pet_."

He punctuated his sentence with spit that barely grazed Law's cheek but stung all the same. Law went for a last resort headbutt, but Crocodile pushed him to the ground just as he began to rise and reared back for good measure. "Stupid boy, I would have left you alone to run off with your tail between your legs, but not now."

The heavy gold of the hook bore down on his chest and he gasped as he felt the point jab him bluntly through his clothing. He knew his skin hadn't broke, but the pressure was building and he couldn't squirm away fast enough. The hook was bruising his side…

A red blur and Kidd had knocked Crocodile off of him with a blow to the head. Law used his legs to propel him away from there and watched as Crocodile staggered to his feet and the two froze, each waiting for the other to take the bait and dive in.

It was Crocodile who started chuckling that chilled Law's blood.

"Don't think you're doing anyone any favours, Eustass," he growled. "You're just as dead as he is."

Kidd snorted, looking down at his arm. The blood ran steady, as did the blood from the wound on his head. It dripped down around his eyes and continued down his cheek, red tears that dripped off onto his neck. "Don't think a little flesh wound's gonna kill me, _bastard_."

Crocodile's chuckling deepened. "Maybe not, but a little poison will…"

Law gagged, his tongue a toneless waste of muscle. No wonder Crocodile was so calm. In his eyes, he had already killed one of them, the physically stronger of the two. It was only a matter of time before Kidd dropped.

Kidd himself didn't even appear the slightest bit fazed. Then again, Law had learned Kidd's face rarely revealed what he was really thinking, and seeing Kidd charge at Crocodile and throwing his full weight at the man was not something that Law could have predicted. Crocodile landed on the conveyor belt, Kidd on top of him and fighting to stay that way.

Law didn't think, climbing up on top of the moving belt with them.

He doubled the effort emulating Kidd's actions, trying to disarm Crocodile. Literally. Law went straight for holding Croc's arm down, and felt himself grow pale when he saw Kidd's hand, the one attached to his injured arm, and forcefully yank the hook from Crocodile's body, while at the same time injuring himself further.

He smelt the crude odour of the poison, so strong he could have tasted the air and thought himself infected.

Crocodile snarled in rage and threw them both off. Law fell off one side of the conveyor belt while Kidd rolled off the other side backwards and out of sight.

Law landed on his back on the cement, his head up enough to avoid the worst of the fall. His eyes met Crocodile's, and as he thought the man wobbled to his knees and made to come after him.

He was the one that hadn't been affected yet, and thus the one to kill.

Instinct made him stagger to get away, and he broke into a run to put distance between them. There was no clear cut path, and everything was a chaotic mess of moving parts, screeching gears and the occasional stack of concrete blowing red hot steam loud enough to deafen Law. He did not look behind him, for over the clatter of everything else he could hear the devil's cursing and heavy breath as he pursued Law. The path narrowed and Law found himself climbing back up onto dangerous equipment, blind to the safety bulletins and fencing that had sectioned off machines. He was halfway up his second level of fencing when Crocodile grabbed hold of his ankle. In one furious tug he was sprawled out before the greasy haired slimeball, close enough that he could make out every stitch mark that ran across his face.

There was no lofty, triumphant grin, only a burning hatred and steely determination to dispatch of Law, with no more mistakes made.

As the stub of an arm wrapped around Law's throat and choked him, Law opened his mouth and then remembered his resolve to never beg for his life. He shut it firmly, biting his tongue. But there was no way in hell he was going to give up. Not this easily.

He struggled and kicked, landing a couple blows to Crocodile's shins until at last Crocodile brought him to the ground where he had no leverage to use to his advantage. His mouth was filling with blood, some amount he had no idea the quantity of, only that the sharp tang was all he could taste and indicated that he'd either choke on his own bodily fluids or from air deprivation. The black haze that set in around his vision and the faintness he experienced made him think one of the options was more likely than the other.

He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on trying to conserve the last bits of oxygen in his lungs, experiencing his the fear of drowning. He hadn't felt that fear so immediately since the night where he'd jumped in Kidd's pool unthinkingly. The reminder was a broken flashback in which his mind scrambled even further before throwing the bits and pieces to the ground in defeat.

All of a sudden, he felt Crocodile drop him in a heap. He sucked in air. At first it made no difference, but the more he heaved the more he started to come back, and he turned his face so it rested on its side. The cold metal of the humming machine they were perched on felt delicious on his cheek.

However, what he saw next stole the precious air from his lungs again, and he knew why Crocodile had dropped him.

Kidd had the man locked in his grip, but the entanglement was short-lived. Law could do nothing but watch as Crocodile redirected Kidd's weight and fed him into the machine's teeth.

He knew then that horror movies were hardly accurate.

Kidd fell below his field of vision, but he had seen and heard enough to know that Kidd's arm had been shorn clean off. His gut twisted and a combination of disgust, anger and sadness bubbled up inside of him. Crocodile's raucous laughter filled his ears.

"Now you look just like me, Eustass!" he bellowed. Over Crocodile's voice Law could hear Kidd's agonized groaning below them. He was afraid to look, not knowing what gruesome scene he would see before him.

But first he leapt up and knocked Crocodile from the top of the machine, watching him land hard on the concrete below, far out of reach.

His gut tore him in two different directions.

He was the one who was supposed to kill Crocodile. But then what of Kidd? Crocodile's beady eyes watching him dive over the side to get to Kidd. He slipped in the puddle of red beneath Kidd, kneeling and peeling off his sweater. He thought Kid had fallen unconscious, but some movement of the man's eyelids and muttered swears assured him he was still alive.

He took the sleeves of the sweater and tied them around Kidd's neck with the bulk of the sweater pressing against the wound. If only he could stop the bleeding better…

He could see through the machinery and the fence where Crocodile was. The man seemed to be staring at them as well through the fence. Law made the most hideous face, and as Crocodile moved off, he furrowed his brows in surprise.

No, he's fleeing, thought Law angrily.

The bastard was fleeing the scene like last time! But why? Law wasn't dead yet…or was he so insignificant that Crocodile didn't have time to deal with him now that Kidd's fate was sealed?

He smelt the smoke around the same time Kidd's bloody hand touched his cheek. He looked down into Kidd's wide open eyes, his pupils shrunken in and his skin unbelievably pale.

"I…set fire…to the breaker room," Kidd wheezed, and Law could tell he was fighting off nausea. He seemed to get control of himself and grasped Law tighter. "There's…propane tanks next door."

Law had taken enough chemistry classes and lived a life of common sense to know what that meant. "We have to get out of here, Kidd."

Kidd grunted but didn't stir beyond that.

"C-can you get up?"

Kidd's eyes flickered to his face and then to the fence they would have to scale. Law wasn't sure if there was true recognition of what they needed to do in those hollow eyes.

"I'll carry you?" Law whispered. Kidd's eyes settled on Law's face.

Law got a grip of Kidd's side, one arm around his back and the other around his front, and tried to lift him. A flicker of hope was sparked when he realized Kidd was trying to get up, leaning most of his weight on Law.

"Come on…" Law muttered, "You can do it…"

"There's…another way around," Kidd growled through tightly clenched teeth.

Law looked, taking in his surroundings. He hadn't focused on them before, having eyes only for Crocodile and Kidd, but there was a narrow path to their left. They would have to pass sideways through it.

Once Kidd was on his feet slouched over onto Law he seemed to regain more of his strength, taking a few staggering steps sideways. With Kidd's weight shifting Law found himself bracing himself and putting all he had into steering them both.

At the pace they moved along at the path seemed to Law to be never-ending, and when it did finally end and he looked back to see the trail Kidd had left in their wake. He knew Kidd needed a blood transfusion, and fast.

They came upon a wide area of concrete Law recognized from before. Crocodile's presence there shocked him, and he knew that masked bandana man anywhere.

"Killer!" he breathed. He continued forward with Kidd. He knew the way back to Bepo, and with Bepo's help he knew they could get out. But Killer was blocking the exit and trying to keep the scaly lizard from breaching it. He was armed with what looked to be two machetes attached to gauntlets. Crocodile eyed them warily, and glanced over at them when Kidd and Law approached from Killer's side. Blood dripped from the stump where his hook had been. He still had the same cocky air he always did, like he was going to win no matter what Law did.

Killer was without his sunglasses for once, and Law could see the concern in his eyes and in the way his forehead wrinkled. "Get Mr. Eustass out, I'll stay here."

Law knew now was not the time to ask Killer how he was even alive, and so tugged Kidd along through the gap Killer made for them. Crocodile said nothing, and Law had so many evil things he wanted to say to that man that he almost hoped Killer wouldn't murder the man with his knives.

Instead all he could say to Killer was, "Kidd says there's a fire in the break room."

Killer cursed, and Law took it that Killer knew they had limited time and carried on. By now Kidd's stream of muttering had ceased and the adrenaline in his muscles was starting to lose out to the blood loss he was experiencing.

This wasn't how Law envisioned this going. This was all wrong.

He reached Bepo or, rather, Bepo reached him. Kidd had fallen unconscious, his weight becoming too much for Law to bear. He sunk to the ground on his knees, trying to keep Kidd propped up.

"H-he needs an ambulance," Law wheezed as Bepo ran up to them. "Get him out of here Bepo."

"What happened!?" Bepo cried, looking over Law with hungry eyes. Law knew he was covered in blood, probably looking like he was just as much injured as Kidd.

"No time to explain, I'm fine, give me your gun," Law managed to grind out. "Or can you not carry him by yourself?"

"No, I can carry him…" Bepo trailed off as Law viciously snagged the gun from his left hand. "Law! Is he there?"

"Yeah. And I won't miss this time. Just get Kidd out of here, Bepo. This place might blow up…"

He didn't allow Bepo enough time to stop him, and knew that leaving Kidd in Bepo's care was the best thing he could have done for the both of them. Bepo would get Kidd out of the hellhole, at the same time ensuring his own safety. Bepo didn't have the nerve to leave a dying man on the ground to go after his best friend. Law knew now he had potentially saved two people.

Law followed the trail of blood back to Killer and Crocodile, coming upon them locked in close combat. Crocodile was trying to turn Killer's knives on himself, and Killer was working to impale Crocodile with them. Law got the gun ready, pointing it to the ground. He couldn't shoot with Killer right there for fear of hitting him. He waited close by for his opening, hoping Crocodile hadn't noticed him hugging the wall yet.

Dark smoke was billowing out across the roof, and Law coughed some from his lungs, trying his hardest to remain concentrated on his target when his nose started to burn. Whatever the fire had been set on, it had caught quickly and was spreading even quicker.

Crocodile pushed Killer to the ground with one powerful blow using all his weight, and Law saw his opportunity to shoot. He raised the gun to eyelevel and fired it, aiming for the center of Crocodile's chest.

The impact was immediate. Crocodile reeled back clutching his chest, and Law saw the blood run out closer to his heart than he could have ever hoped. Hands shaking, he lowered the gun and went about trying to get the next shot ready. Meanwhile, Killer leapt up and froze, unsure if Law was going to fire the killing blow or if it would fall to him to dispatch the man.

The moment of hesitation between Law and Killer, unsure of what the other's intentions were, proved to be enough time for Crocodile to dart past Law and begin running in the direction of Bepo and Kidd.

And the garage full of cars, Law thought, his heart sinking.

They might have made a fatal error. Kidd was up ahead, and Bepo, and Law didn't know if they would be alright with Crocodile coming their way.

He took off after Crocodile, Killer right beside him. The blond's armaments jingled and creaked as they ran, the back of Crocodile's greasy head never far from their sights.

"I'm sorry – I let him – get by," Law panted with every footfall.

"Shut – up," Killer said. He sucked in a deep breath and shouted, unbroken, "If he escapes there's no telling if we'll ever be able to catch him again!"

Law knew what meant. His evil subconscious had been waiting years to see Crocodile again. To give him the full burden of what he deserved. Crocodile was not going to escape. They were gaining on him.

"Give me the gun!" Killer cried. "I can shoot him down!"

Law slowed slightly to safely pass the gun to Killer, who took it and sped up. Law caught sight of Bepo hauling Kidd ahead of Crocodile.

"Bepo! Look out!"

Bepo turned at the sound of his voice, wobbling a bit as Crocodile came at him. But Crocodile was gone just as soon as he'd come, and though Bepo's knees gave out Law was incredibly glad nothing worse had happened. He stopped by Bepo to help him back up. Kidd was thrown over his back, still comatose. Killer raced past in pursuit of Crocodile. Law was done, there was nothing he could add to the fight. He could only play the doctor and get the wounded off the battlefield with Bepo.

Together they carried Kidd back to where Bepo had gotten into the warehouse. Law's mind wandered, wondering what was happening on Killer's end.

"It's not that much farther," Bepo kept mumbling. He said that again within the next couple paces, Kidd supported between them. Law knew Bepo had a strong stomach for accidents…but even this would be getting too much for him. He had to be just about at his limit now.

"How are we going to get an ambulance?" Law wondered aloud. He knew that was to be figured out when they knew they were safe, but the nagging question kept pestering him. "I'm not letting him die out here!"

The smoke was thick when they reached the door, and Law held Kidd up while Bepo fiddled with the knob to get it open. The sunlight beamed down on them as they stumbled out into the sand. They both took a moment to get their bearings, and it was Bepo who pointed and said, "Look!"

Law blinked at the black and white blotches that dotted the sand and the ants that surrounded them. Cars and people. But not just any cars and people, they were uniformed.

"The police?" whispered Law. "Oh, hell."

They didn't have to walk much farther, as the police officers set on them like their police dogs would have. Once it was determined that they were indeed not the enemy, and that the pale man between them was indeed Eustass Kidd, Law found himself empty handed and looking back anxiously at the warehouse door.

"There's a man of Mr. Eustass' still in there," he told one of the police officers. "Long blond hair, wearing jeans…he went after Crocodile. Crocodile's looking to escape through the garage entryway…"

He watched the man stalk off to tell the others, and hoped that the policemen that had already gone inside would recover Killer quickly. He could feel Bepo's heavy hand on his shoulder and turned into him, only to find Bepo was no longer wearing the same outfit.

He looked up and his face paled. "_Ace? What the hell?_"

Ace's freckles beamed down on him. "Apart from looking like a Dalmatian, you look like you're alright…"

"Ace!" The man enveloped him in a great big bear hug and squished him into his chest so Law felt all of his mild injuries anew. "How did you get here?"

"I was already here," Ace muttered. "And when I got out thanks to that Eustass guy…I got the police to come here. I had Smokey's personal cell number of course. But Law, I was so worried. They told me they had you too…my gut said otherwise, but…"

Law drew back to look at Ace in full. He swallowed, his mouth dry. "You look like you've been tortured…"

"It wasn't as bad as it looks now," Ace said, looking away. He had bruises down his jawline and his hair was matted to the point where it looked like it had to be shaved off. His clothes were dirty and rumpled, and Law had no doubt they hid more bruises beneath them. "Living with Luffy toughened me up for this sort of thing…besides they lost interest in me after they realized I was the wrong guy. Plus I told them I was HIV positive, so they were too scared to draw any blood. I'm a bloody good liar."

"Still, I feel terrible for getting you dragged into this," Law whispered. "If only they'd taken me instead of you, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Yeah, but you would have been dead for sure," Ace replied. "I'd rather have my partner alive and my body a little bruised instead of having you dead in the sand."

"I'm just so glad you're alive," Law muttered.

"I don't know if I can say the same about your client though…" Ace muttered. "He's on his way to the hospital in Smokey's cruiser, but it didn't look good Law."

Law nodded, rendered speechless as the gruesome images flooded his mind.

"I can't believe he got hurt like that," Ace mumbled. He locked eyes with Law. "Wow. Did you ever strip for the wrong guy."

"I should have gone to the hospital with him," Law said. "But I–"

"What's that?" Ace asked suddenly, cutting him off. Law followed his gaze to the large column of black smoke that had emerged from the back of the warehouse. Law could hear a faint sizzling, almost like the frying of bacon.

It's going to blow up, thought Law, and no sooner had he realized that when a flash blinded them all. The deafening boom and resulting whoosh of air knocked them off their feet and flung sand all over them. A smaller boom followed the first, and Law opened his eyes to see the tsunami of sand come at them before squeezing them shut and feeling the impact sting his skin.

Ace was on his feet again long before Law, and pulled his friend up. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," Law breathed, his feeble voice lost to the aftermath of yelling ones, giving directions, trying to count up people, and generally just taking stock of the explosion. "Killer…"

"That was an explosion straight upwards," Ace said. "It blew out the roof, but look, the sides are only a bit damaged."

"Do you think Killer's alive?"

"What?" Ace asked.

"He saved my neck…a few times now," Law explained. "He was still in there when I got out…"

"…I don't know, I'll go see what Smoker says," Ace told him. "You should get out of here, go to the hospital. And for the love of God, Law, get rid of that gun in your pants. I know it's in there."

"You do?" Law squeaked.

"Yeah, I _know_ your package pretty well," Ace said with a wink and a cheeky smile. "It's not exactly the size or shape of a .9 caliber gun."

"How should I get rid of it?" Law wondered absently.

"I dunno, you're the brains here," Ace said. "See that guy headed to that car? Albert's going to write up a report from Eustass' perspective, so tag along with him and see if the guy's even okay. I'll look out for your friend, I heard your description of him earlier."

Law just looked at Ace with exhaustion, and Ace pushed him in the right direction. "Go. Knowing you, you've done enough."

"But, Bepo…?"

"He's over there talking to the officers."

"And Crocodile…"

"Let it go, Law."

At last Law nodded and caught up to the officer Ace had pointed out. He had specks of grey in his black hair and a few wrinkles, which furrowed with surprise as Law jogged up. He pointed back at Ace, "He told me you were going to the hospital."

"Yeah," muttered Albert. "Smoker's orders. We've got more guys coming to the scene, and an explosives squad. We can't do much else until they get here. Get in the backseat and don't mind the cage."

Law hopped in and shut the door, the hard seats a relief after all the running and standing and panicking he'd been doing. He sunk into the fabric, marveling at how he had managed to end up in a cop car after all of this. It seemed surreal, all that had happened. His mind had been moving so quickly through everything, so the lull in action driving away from the scene came as a shock to his system.

He found his head drooping, and every time it did he jerked it back up and stared out the window. But there was nothing to see but swirling sand, and his mind was so drained that thinking about Bepo, Ace, and Killer, those he had left behind, was impossible.

His head continued to slump forward, and after so many times trying to keep his chin up, he finally succumbed to fatigue and let his head fall.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Back from the dead with another terrible chapter that has not been edited! My apologies. Also, sorry about the arm thing Kidd, don't take it personally but it had to come off some time.


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